Taxi Driver: First Date

CUT TO:

EXT. PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS - ANOTHER DAY

Traffic passes.

INT. PALANTINE HEADQUARTERS

Tom and Betsy are talking. She takes out a cigarette. He takes out matches to light it.

BETSY: Try holding the match like this.

TOM: This is gotta be a game, right?

BETSY (putting on glasses): This I gotta see.

TOM (burning fingers): Ouch!

BETSY (giggling): Oh, are you all right?

TOM: I'm great. Always set my fingers on fire. If you want to see another trick. I do this thing with my nose.

BETSY: No. I just wanted to see if you could light it that way. The guy at the newsstand can.

TOM: Ah, yes, the guy at the newsstand, Mr. Asbestos...

BETSY: He happens to be missing fingers. I first noticed when -

TOM: Is he Italian?

BETSY: No, why?

TOM: You sure he's not Italian?

BETSY: He's Black, OK?

TOM: Well, If he had been Italian, they could have been shot off. Sometimes the mob does that to teach guys a lesson, If they blow a job or something.

BETSY: As I said, he isn't Italian. Besides, I thought they just killed them.

TOM: Don't be naive. They can't kill everybody. They have different punishments for different things. Like, if they kill a stool pidgeon, they leave a canary on the body. It's symbolic.

BETSY: Why don't they leave a pidgeon instead of a canary?

TOM: I don't know. Maybe they don't leave a canary. Don't be technical. What I'm saying is if this newsstand guy's Italian and his fingers are gone, maybe he's a thief.

BETSY: First, he's not Italian. Second he's not a thief. I noticed the fingers when he was getting my change - the right change. Two of his fingers are missing. Just stubs. Like they were blown away. I was putting my change in my purse when I saw him get out a cigarette. I couldn't help watching. I was dying to see how he'd light it.

TOM: With the other hand, right?

BETSY: No, stupid. With the stubs. That's the whole point.

TOM: I know that guy. His hand looks like a paw. An old Black guy, the newsstand at -

BETSY: No, this is young - well, I'm never sure how old Black people are - but, anyway, he isn't old. That's for sure.

TOM: Show me how he did that again.

EXT. ACROSS THE STREET FROM HEADQUARTERS

Travis is striding briskly across Broadway toward the Palantine Headquarters.

He os dressed the best we have seen him; his pants (not jeans) are pressed, his boots shined, his hair combed. Under his Army jacket he wears a freshly laundered shirt and ivy league tie. He drops his cigarette, steps on it and walks in.

Watching Travis enter Palantine's Headquarters, we are surprised to realize that Travis is really quite attractive. His deformities are psychological, not physical. He believes he is cursed, and therefore he is.

Travis walks briskly into the office, and heads toward Betsy's desk. Tom walks over to greet him, but Travis ignores him.

TRAVIS (at Betsy's desk): I want to volunteer.

As the CAMERA examines Travis' face more closely, one can see the hollowness wrought by lack of sleep and sufficient diet.

TOM (at Betsy's desk): If you'll come this way.

Travis elbows Tom off.

TRAVIS (to Betsy): No. I want to volunteer to you.

TOM (under his voice): Bets.

BETSY waves Tom off with a short gesture, indicating everything is OK. He walks away.

BETSY (curious): And why is that?

TRAVIS is on his best behavior. He smiles slightly:

TRAVIS: Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

BETSY is momentarily taken back, but pleased. TRAVIS' presence has a definite sexual charge. He has those star qualities BETSY looks for: She senses there is something special about the young man who stands before her. And then, too, there is that disarming smile. He is, as Betsy would say, "fascinating".

BETSY (smiling): Is that so? (pause) But what do you think of Charles Palantine?

TRAVIS (his mind elsewhere): Who mam?

BETSY: Charles Palantine. The man you want to volunteer to help elect president.

TRAVIS: Oh, I think he's a wonderful man. Make a great, great President.

BETSY: You want to canvass?

TRAVIS: Yes, mam.

Betsy is interviewing Travis, but she is also teasing him a little, leading him on in a gentle feminine way:

BETSY: How do you feel about Senator Palantine's stand on welfare?

This takes TRAVIS back a bit. He obviously doesn't have the slightest idea what Palantine's stand on welfare is, in fact, he doesn't have any idea about politics whatsoever. TRAVIS thinks a moment, then improvises an answer:

TRAVIS: Welfare, mam? I think the Senator's right. People should work for a living. I do. I like to work. Every day. Get those old coots off welfare and make 'em work for a change.

Betsy does a subtle double-take: This isn't exactly Palantine's position on welfare. She remains intrigued by Travis.

BETSY: Well, that's not exactly what the Senator has proposed. You might not want to canvass, but there is plenty more other work we need done: Office work, filing, poster hanging.

TRAVIS: I'm a good worker, Betsy mam, a real good worker.

BETSY (gesturing): If you talk to Tom, he'll assign you to something.

TRAVIS: If you don't mind, mam, I'd rather work for you.

BETSY: Well, we're all working tonight.

TRAVIS: Well, Betsy mam, I drive a taxi at night.

BETSY: Well, then, what is it you exactly want to do?

TRAVIS (bolstering courage): If you don't mind, mam, I'd be mighty pleased if you'd go out and have some coffee and pie with me.

Betsy doesn't quite know what to make of Travis. She is curious, intrigued, tantalized. Like a moth, she draws closer to the flame.

BETSY: Why?

TRAVIS: Well, Betsy mam, I drive by this place here in my taxi many times a day. And I watch you sitting here at this big long desk with these telephones, and I say to myself, that's a lonely girl. She needs a friend. And I'm gonna be her friend. (smiles)

Travis rarely smiles, but when he does his whole face glows. It is as if he is able to tap an inner reserve of charm unknown even to himself. Betsy is completely disarmed.

BETSY: I don't know...

TRAVIS: It's just to the corner, mam. In broad daytime. Nothing can happen. I'll be there to protect you.

BETSY (smiles): All right. (relents) All right. I'm taking a break at four o'clock. If you're here then we'll go to the corner and have some coffee and pie.

TRAVIS: Oh, I appreciate that, Betsy mam. I'll be here at four o'clock exactly. (pause) And... ah... Betsy...

BETSY: Yes?

TRAVIS: My name is Travis.

BETSY: Thank you, Travis.

Travis nods, turns and exits.

Tom, who has been watching this interchange with a pseudo-standoffish (actually jealous) air, steps over to Betsy. His manner demands some sort of explanation of what Betsy was doing.

Betsy simply shrugs (it's really none of his business) and says:

BETSY: I'm just going to find out what the cabbies are thinking.

CUT TO:

Travis is pacing back and forth on Broadway just beyond the Palantine Headquarters. He checks his watch.

TRAVIS (V.O.): April 26, 1972. Four o'clock p.m. I took Betsy to the Mayfair Coffee Shop on Broadway...

INT. COFFEE SHOP

Travis and Betsy are sitting in a booth of a small New York Coffee Shop. They both have been served coffee; Travis is nervously turning his cup around in his hands.

As Travis speaks V.O., WAITRESS brings their orders: Apple pie for TRAVIS, fruit compote for BETSY.

TRAVIS (V.O.): I had black coffee and apple pie with a slice of melted yellow cheese. I think that was a good selection. Betsy had coffee and a fruit salad dish. She could have had anything she wanted.

Betsy's conversation interrupts Travis' V.O.:

BETSY: We've signed up 15.000 Palantine volunteers in New York so far. The organizational problems are becoming just staggering.

TRAVIS: I know what you mean. I've got the same problems. I just can't get things organized. Little things, I mean. Like my room, my possessions. I should get one of those signs that says, "One of these days I'm Gonna Organezizied".

Travis contorts his mouth to match his mispronunciation, than breaks into a big, friendly, infectious grin. The very sight of it makes one's heart proud.

Betsy cannot help but be caught up in Travis' gin. Travis' contagious, quicksilver moods cause:

BETSY (laughing): Travis, I never ever met anybody like you before.

TRAVIS: I can believe that.

BETSY: Where do you live?

TRAVIS (evasive): Oh, uptown. You know. Some joint. It ain't much.

BETSY: So why did you decide to drive a taxi at night?

TRAVIS: I had a regular job for a while, days. You know, doin' this, doin' that. But I didn't have anything to do at night. I got kinda lonely, you know, just wandering around. So I decided to works nights. It ain't good to be alone, you know.

BETSY: After this job, I'm looking forward to being alone for a while.

TRAVIS: Yeah, well… (a beat) In a cab you get to meet people. You meet lotsa people. It's good for you.

BETSY: What kind of people?

TRAVIS: Just people people, you know. Just people. (a beat) Had a dead man once.

BETSY: Really?

TRAVIS: He'd been shot. I didn't know that. He just crawled into the back seat, said "West 45th Street" and conked out.

BETSY: What did you do?

TRAVIS: I shot the meter off, for one thing. I knew I wasn't going to get paid. Then I dropped him off at the cop shop. They took him.

BETSY: That's really something.

TRAVIS: Oh, you see lots of freaky stuff in a cab. Especially when the moon's out.

BETSY: The moon?

TRAVIS: The full moon. One night I had three or four weirdoes in a row and I looked up and, sure enough, there it was - the full moon.

Betsy laughs. Travis continues:

TRAVIS: Oh, yeah. People will do anything in front of a taxi driver. I mean anything. People too cheap to rent a hotel room, people scoring dope, people shooting up, people who want to embarrass you. (a bitterness emerges) It's like you're not even there, not even a person. Nobody knows you.

Betsy cuts Travis' bitterness short:

BETSY: Com'on, Travis. It's not that bad. I take lots of taxis.

TRAVIS: I know. I could have picked you up.

BETSY: Huh?

TRAVIS: Late one night. About three. At the plaza.

BETSY: Three in the morning? I don't think so. I have to go to bed early. I work days. It must have been somebody else.

TRAVIS: No. It was you. You had some manila folders and a pink bag from Saks.

Betsy, realizing Travis remembers her precisely, scrambles for a polite rationale for her behavior:

BETSY: You're right! Now I remember! It was after the Western regional planners were in town and the meeting went late. The next day I was completely bushed. It was unbelievable.

TRAVIS: If it wasn't for a drunk I would have picked you up. He wanted to go to the DMZ.

BETSY: The DMZ?

TRAVIS: South Bronx. The worst. I tried to ditch him, but he was already in the cab, so I had to take him. That's the law. Otherwise I would have picked you up.

BETSY: That would have been quite a coincidence.

TRAVIS: You'd be surprised how often you see the same people, get the same fare. People have patterns. They do more or less the same things every day. I can tell.

BETSY: Well, I don't go to the Plaza every night.

TRAVIS: I didn't mean you. But just ordinary people. A guy I know - Dough-Boy - met his wife that way. They got to talking. She said she usually caught the bus so he started picking her up at the bus stop, taking her home with the flag up.

BETSY: That's very romantic. Some of your fares must be interesting. See any stars, politicians, deliver any babies yet?

TRAVIS: Well, no... not really... had some famous people in the cab. (remembering) I got this guy who makes lasers. Not regular lasers, not the big kind. Little lasers, pocket sized, small enough to clip your belt like a transistor radio, like a gun, you know. Like a ray gun. Zap.

BETSY (laughs): What hours do you work?

TRAVIS: I work a single, which means there's no replacement - no second man on the cab. Six to six, sometimes eight. Seventy-two hours a week.

BETSY (amazed): You mean you work seventy-two hours a week.

TRAVIS: Sometimes 76 or 80. Sometimes I squeeze a few more hours in the morning. Eighty miles a day, a hundred miles a night.

BETSY: You must be rich.

TRAVIS (big affectionate smile): It keeps ya busy.

BETSY: You know what you remind me of?

TRAVIS: What?

BETSY: That song by Kris Kristofferson, where it's said "Like a pusher, partly truth, partly fiction, a walking contradiction". (smiles)

TRAVIS: I'm no pusher, Betsy. Honest. I never have pushed.

TRAVIS: I didn't mean that, Travis. Just the part about the contradiction.

TRAVIS (more at ease): Oh. Who was that again?

BETSY: The singer?

TRAVIS; Yeah. Yes. I don't follow music too much.

BETSY (slowly): Kris Kristofferson.

Travis looks at Betsy intently and they exchange smiles.