The Gap Between

The Gap Between

a smashword screenplay adapted from the novel

by

Rodney St Clair Ballenden

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Copyright © 2013 by Rodney St Clair Ballenden.

Email: qwayrod@mweb.co.za cell: 082 784 2285.

Address: Askham, Kalahari Desert, South Africa

INTERIOR 11 ANDREW CRESCENT EARLY MORNING

IN THE MAIN BEDROOM: THE EERIE LIGHT OF DAWN

ANGELA (40) AND STEVE (48), husband and wife of twenty odd years, are having sex. STEVE is on top, struggling with his timing; the duvet keeps falling off; he is out of breath and it is too damn early in the morning for such hot stuff. ANGELA, a handsome woman, fit and athletic, is into the hot stuff; she is close to orgasm, missing only that final surge from her partner.

ANGELA

Roll over.

ANGELA wraps one leg around STEVE, her heel in the small of his back, rocking back and forth ready for the heave-ho. STEVE feels for the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain.

STEVE

You’re too heavy. I’ll fall.

ANGELA

We’ll fall together.

ANGELA rolls Steve over; in a mayhem of arms and legs, ANGELA AND STEVE crash to the floor; Angela on top, pinning Steve down.

ANGELA (continues)

Don’t move.

ANGELA'S SPINE contracts; she squeezes her buttocks, starting again.

ANGELA (continues)

Feel that. Come on... You’re going all soft. Don't do this to me.

STEVE

I can’t breathe.

ANGELA

Relax.

ANGELA rises, moving slowly; fire in her throat; thrusting down onto STEVE, but he cannot take any more, and grunts and wheezes, wanting out.

STEVE

Not so hard...no, that’s enough; I can’t.

STEVE'S HAND clutches at Angela's thighs forcing her to stop: ANGELA holds him there.

ANGELA

You used to be good at this. Remember; touch me.

STEVE rolls aside, pulling the sheet off the bed to cover himself.

STEVE

You were lighter....now; no I can't. You used to be soft and squishy not all muscle...it's just not nice.

ANGELA stands, straddling Steve, showing him her body, feeling her wetness.

ANGELA

It’s exactly the same.

STEVE

Jumping over those silly boxes is spoiling everything.

(turning away)

No wonder it’s not nice.

ANGELA steps back wanting to stamp on Steve's face, but stops. Her heart turns to ice. She picks up her gown and wraps it around her body.

ANGELA

After Harry, I put on a bit.

ANGELA tugs the belt, tightening it forever.

ANGELA (continues)

I’ll work on it. I'll get it right; trust me.

STEVE

Same as always. Trust you...working on our lives.

STEVE switches on the radio and climbs back into bed.

ANGELA flops onto her side of the bed making Steve pitch as if in a rough sea. She ignores Steve's insult, determined to fix it not fight over it. STEVE is untroubled by the rough sea and prepares for sleep. ANGELA, despairing at STEVE'S aloofness, rolls over backwards, her head hanging over the edge of the bed.

We see SUNBEAMS flowing through the curtains highlighting THE DUST in the air: THE BED is a mess, half the duvet on the floor.

ANGELA

Did you ever wonder? What’s so special about another day? Yesterday was the same and tomorrow will be the same, I guess...work, eat, sleep...just the same.

STEVE

(yawning)

Wonder...no; not really, a bit, I suppose.

ANGELA

Don’t you get bored of the same old thing?

(waits for an answer)

I prayed for something to happen, but now; I'm giving up...just a little.

STEVE

We all do; give up is easy.

STEVE sits bolt upright, suddenly angered.

STEVE (continues)

You can't pray for things you can't have. You pray for forgiveness; that's all and then the other things just arrive...not by magic; by prayer. You make them happen by prayer.

ANGELA stares at Steve. He looks dapper for a practical man; his dark brown hair, wavy on the top, but uncontrollably curly in the rain. His ears are long, extra long for such a small head, the lobes thick and fleshy. Pimple scars pockmark his chin and forehead, his nose is slender and too feline for his big, round, burning eyes.

STEVE (continues)

And don’t grumble, because that's a complaint. Complaints don't count.

STEVE collapses onto his pillows; too darn tired to argue.

ANGELA

Is a miracle a thing?

STEVE

Yes!

ANGELA

Is that right.

STEVE

That’s right. You say it out loud...with conviction and it comes true; that's how you make it happen.

ANGELA

(correcting Steve)

Aloud...not 'out loud'.

ANGELA walks leaden footed to the dressing counter and slumps onto the chair; her body alive; her spirit struggling to survive.

ANGELA

The trouble is, when you cannot see me, you think I'm sexy. I'm best in your eyes when you're blind.

ANGELA'S IMAGE IN THE MIRROR: she looks drawn and haggard, HER HAIR a tangle of black, red and ginger streaks.

ANGELA (continues)

You started it today.

STEVE

It was dark. The sun wasn't even up.

ANGELA ties her hair into a knot

ANGELA

You still like it long?

STEVE

You’ve always worn it that way.

ANGELA lathers cream over her face.

ANGELA

I do as I'm told. My place is to eat, sleep and work. You know the rules...to do as you're told and if life doesn't tell you you're husband will. Yea!.

STEVE

Rules never last...mark my words; they run out.

ANGELA

Ring me when that happens.

ANGELA opens a draw and rips out a tissue, wiping her face clean: THE ALARM goes off and STEVE reaches over and grabs the clock.

STEVE

(checking the time)

What’s the rush?

THE CLOCK READS 6.30AM.

ANGELA

I have my book club tonight.

STEVE

(building into another yawn)

You’re what?

ANGELA

I’ll leave your dinner in the oven.

STEVE

Maybe, I’ll go out.

ANGELA

All you have to do is warm it up.

STEVE

Of course...

(mocks Angela)

...all you have to do is warm it up.

STEVE replaces the clock on the bedside table. It falls over. He picks sit up, twists it this way and that until it sits firmly.

STEVE (continues)

I’m not a child. I know what to do with my food.

ANGELA slaps the draw closed and rises to go.

ANGELA

And at forty something I am still a woman and I know what to do with my body.

STEVE sees ANGELA'S hair for the first time.

STEVE (continues)

What have you done to your hair?

ANGELA

Washed it.

STEVE

No! Those streaky things?

ANGELA PULLS AT A RED STREAK; mystified by the issue.

THE VOICE OF JOACHIM WELSH ON THE RADIO interrupts.

ANGELA pauses to listen.

JOACHIM (v/o)

Animals are the messengers...they speak to us, our journey is to learn how to listen.

ANGELA turns up the volume and dresses for work, slipping into her leggings and tight fitting vest.

THE RADIO DJ questions Joachim.

DJ (v/o)

But surely that is the danger. If I were an animal I would never teach a human my language. Language lets us into our secrets.

JOACHIM (v/o)

I believe we balance each other.

DJ

Only when separated. In fact, if I were an animal, I’d leave this planet and let the humans ruin it without me and save my secrets.

STEVE mimes to the debate. He pumps his thumb in agreement with the DJ and when Joachim speaks he copies him in a mocking way.

JOACHIM (v/o)

Harmony comes through love.

STEVE

Harmony comes through love...

JOACHIM (v/o)

And I am only now learning...only now...

(pauses)

I'm just a kid back at school and still learning.

STEVE

Learning something odd...

JOACHIM (v/o)

It sounds odd, but...

(laughs nervously)

We can. I've seen it already.

STEVE

(giggles)

What an idiot.

ANGELA shakes her fist at Steve warning him to shut up. STEVE collapses in slow motion back onto his pillows. We follow the radio debate through the disinterest shown by STEVE and the growing interest shown by ANGELA. The mystery of JOACHIM held in his voice and played out in the bedroom through the expressions of ANGELA.

JOACHIM (v/o)

As I surrender so I become more balanced, and when I do this in the presence of an animal it does not threaten me.

ANGELA is ready to go, but pauses to listen.

DJ (v/o)

There you have it, another first on the Breakfast Run. You heard it right here on Radio One straight from the horse’s mouth. The horse in this case is our bushwhacked guest, Joachim Welsh, self-appointed animal connector. Is there a contact number where the crazy alumni of the wilderness can reach you?

JOACHIM

Yes. My cell number is 0557 728 4215 and e-mail address gosolow1@gmail.com.

ANGELA scrambles for a pen and paper.

DJ

So folks, under the umbrella tree on the far side of sanity at 0557 728 4215 you’ll find Mr Welsh and his band of merry animals talkers. Is there such a thing as internet on your planet, Mr Welsh, I mean, surely if the animal in us could speak it would be telling us to get real and stick to our own tree and not pretend to climb someone else's with all this mumbo jumbo stuff of yours?

(laughs)

Let’s be honest Joachim, harmony with a wild animal is somewhat goofy. Not so!

JOACHIM

Until you’ve experienced it. A personal connection in nature teaches us who we are, and from there we move up to our higher self or, as I like to say, our emotional maturity.

DJ

You got that folks...emotional maturity through your animal connection. Fly goofy fly, that's what I say. But such is the wonder of natural selection it takes all kinds to make up our world and with that comes the slime we've got to swallow.

ANGELA exits the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

INTERIOR THE KITCHEN

ANGELA sits at the breakfast nook and dials Joachim Welsh's number reading from her piece of paper.

THE DIAL TONE rings twice.

JOACHIM answers his voice through the phone speaker calm despite the earlier antagonism from the DJ. We follow ANGELA around the kitchen listening to this conversation.

JOACHIM (v/o)

Hello! Joachim.

ANGELA

Mr Welsh. I have a point to make regarding what I heard...

JOACHIM

To whom am I speaking?

ANGELA hesitates, not wanting to give her name.

ANGELA

(smudging it)

Angela.

JOACHIM

Angela.

(rolling the sound of it into a saucy mix)

Angela...Angela...that’s nice.

ANGELA prepares her breakfast of cereal, toast and cheese, working with one hand, the cell phone cupped to her ear.

ANGELA

An animal is just an animal, in fact we humans should be striving to rise above the animal in us.

JOACHIM

Have you ever been