Ext. Beach – night – another angle

 

Around a blazing bonfire, a group of young men and women,

beer cans (or maybe a keg) in evidence, as well as the bota

Spanish leather wine-bag much in favor by beach and ski-bum

types.

 

The group is swapping sentimental alma maters, weepily singing

eastern Ivy League anthems -– Dartmouth, Cornell, Harvard,

Penn, etc. Two young people break away from the others. They

 

are Tom Cassidy and Chrissie. Behind them, there is

considerable necking activity; Tom and Chrissie are more

serious.

 

TOM

 

Makes a clumsy attempt at snaring Chrissie, cups her from

behind. She squirms playfully out of his grasp. We discover

he's not especially sober.

 

TOM

Hey! Hey hey! I'm with you, right?

 

EXT. ANOTHER PART OF THE BEACH – NIGHT

 

Tom and Chrissie are separated from the others, silhouetted

against the fire, she pauses and looks at the ocean, he is

plodding along in the sand, winded.

 

Chrissie runs down the slope of the dune towards the water,

leaving Tom reeling atop the dune. As she runs, she is

shedding her clothes. Tom is trying to trail her by her

clothes, like Hansel following bread crumbs through the woods.

 

But Chrissie is way ahead of him.

 

CHRISSIE

C'mon!

 

She runs headlong into the inviting sea, plunges cleanly

into the water with a light "Whoops!" as the cold water sweeps

over her.

 

Behind all this, we continue to hear the sentimental, beery

chorus of alma maters.

 

Then we see it -- a gentle bulge in the water, a ripple that

passes her a dozen feet away. A pressure wave lifts her up,

then eases her down again, like a smooth, sudden swell.

 

CHRISSIE

Tommy? Don't dunk me...

 

She looks around for him, finds him still on the beach, his

feet tangled in his pants, which have dropped around his

ankles. She starts to swim back in to him.

 

EXT. CHRISSIE IN THE WATER

 

Her expression freezes. The water-bulge is racing towards

her. The first bump jolts her upright, out of the water to

her hips. She reaches under water to touch her leg. Whatever

she feels makes her open her mouth to scream, but she is

slammed again, hard, whipped into an arc of about eight feet,

up and down, submerging her down to her open mouth, choking

off any scream she might try to make. Another jolt to her

body, driving her under so that only her hair swirls on the

surface. Then it too is sucked below in a final and terrible

jerking motion. HOLD on the eddies and swirls until we're

sure it's all over.

 

EXT. CLOSE ON TOM ON BEACH

 

In his shorts, laughing to himself, turning in slow stoned

circles, held prisoner by his windbreaker which seems to

have him in an armlock, as he struggles to free his arm from

a tight sleeve. As he turns, we hear the alma maters in the

background, from the fire.

 

INT. BRODY HOUSE - BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING

 

A shaft of morning sun blasts through the crack between the

bottom of the shade and the windowsill, falling across the

heads of the sleeping couple on the bed. It catches Martin

Brody right across the eyes, bringing him up from sleep.

The job is completed by the clock radio, which clicks on

with local fisherman's report and weather.

 

RADIO ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

Hayes Landing reports conditions

good, with stripers and jacks. The

Coast Guard has no storm warning

from Block Island to Cape Hatteras;

a light chop with freshening winds,

continued clear and mild... (etc.)

 

Ellen Brody burrows her head under the covers, avoiding

morning for a few precious minutes more.

 

BRODY

How come the sun didn't used to shine

in here?

 

ELLEN

'cause when we bought the house it

was Autumn. This is summer. Feed the

dogs.

 

We hear the scampering toenails of two cocker spaniels

scrabbling around the foot of the bed. Brody swings out of

bed, wearing shorts, socks, and tee shirt.

 

BRODY

Right.

 

ELLEN

Do you see the kids?

 

BRODY

Probably out in the back yard.

 

ELLEN

In Amity, you say 'Yahd.'

(she gives it the

Boston sound)

 

BRODY

The kids are in the yahd, playing

near the cah. How's that sound?

 

ELLEN

Like you're from N'Yawk.

(gives it Brooklyn

sound)

 

BRODY

Give me 30 years, I'll get it.

 

He leads the dogs out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen.