The camera cuts as they start aggressively making out.
?? SLOANE & COHEN
They barge into the confessional like a storm.
Cohen still has an arm wrapped firmly around Sloane’s waist, holding her against him.
Both are slightly breathless—like they ran here… or were interrupted doing something else.
They sit, but the booth is tiny, so they practically end up on top of each other.
COHEN(checking his watch, impatient):
“Do we really have to do this? We won. We’re first. Can we go?”
SLOANE(running a hand through her hair, attempting professionalism but failing because her lips are swollen and her eyes are glassy):
“It’s in the contract, Becker. We have to comment on the win.”
COHEN(turning to her, ignoring the camera completely, voice low and rough):
“My comment is that you were about five seconds away from dragging me to the chalet and ripping my clothes off before that producer stopped us in the hallway.”
SLOANE(blushing violently, elbowing him):
“Shut up! We’re on camera!”
COHEN(grinning like a wolf):
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not pissed we’re not already in bed.”
Sloane exhales, defeated, looking straight at the camera.
SLOANE:
“Fine. Yes. We’re annoyed. We wanted to… celebrate. It’s been a long day. And we won.”
COHEN:
“And now we’re going to collect the real prize.”
He stands abruptly, pulling Sloane up with him before production can stop them.
SLOANE(being dragged out):
“Goodnight! Cut! Turn it off!”
Black screen. A door slams. A man’s laughter echoes faintly in the hall.
63
Crack
Sloane
The sun is shining over Elm Hollow Mountain.
It’s one of those deceptive winter days—the kind where the sky is an almost violent shade of blue, and the temperature has risen just enough to make icicles drip from the chalet gutters.
