EXT. ILE DE LA CITé, PARIS- DAY
Paris, Ile de la cité. The cherry trees in the Notre Dame de Paris parc, and their light pink flowers. The iron bridge, couples and friends on the banks, the sky shimmering with grey, and the river. Tourists stop to take a picture.
The scenery looks like a real postcard.
EXT. BRIDGE SAINT LOUIS, PARIS- DAY
Sunday walkers are stopped on the Bridge Saint Louis. They look at and listen to a singer, playing the guitar.
EXT. SEINE BANKS- DAY
A brown-haired man in his twenties, alone, watches the river, on one of the banks. Pink light.
EXT. ILE SAINT LOUIS- DAY
A beautiful street. A beautiful day.
A young boy, wearing blue dungarees and a checkered-shirt , is running.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
Il serait parti faire le beaujolais à vélo en sac à dos.
Mais il saurait faire que du monocycle.
Peur de la paire.
Il arriverait jamais jusqu'au Maroc.
(He would've gone to visit the beaujolais with his backpack and a bicycle.
But he'd only know how to ride a monocycle.
Fear of the couple.
He'd never get to Morocco.)
CUT
The young boy has met his mother, sitting on one of the benches, on the Ile Saint Louis. There are thin trunked trees, with thick foliage.
The mother is in a deep conversation with her neighbor. She gently strokes her hand across the boy's forehead and brushes his hair with her fingers.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Mais j'ai jamais su faire parler les garçons.
(But I've never known how to make boys talk.)
EXT. SEINE BANKS- DAY
Next to the young brown-haired man, a woman in her mid-twenties has sat down.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
Il lisait Hugo dans le texte. Dans le texte cyrillique.
(He read Victor Hugo in the text. And in Cyrillic...)
EXT. A STREET IN FRONT OF A PARISIAN CAFé. THE END OF THE DAY.
The sky is grey, heavy with clouds: it will rain, soon.
A man in his mid-twenties is sitting on a terrace.
Behind the café's window, a young woman. On her table, a glass. There is also a paper and a closed book.
The nape of a man's neck.
On his table, a smart notebook, in which he has tried to write smart words.
For the moment, only two lines, underneath the one he has drawn to separate today's entry.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
Planter mon visage en direction d'un homme. Le fixer pendant quelques secondes, puis détourner le regard, mais rester immobile.
(Stare at a man, with my whole face in his direction. Wait a few seconds, then stay still, but look away.)
The young woman is still sitting, her shoulders, face, and entire body facing in the man's direction, but with her eyes lost, far away in the street.
The man seems to search for inspiration, looking at this same street. His pen is pointed up, he seems absorbed, but his moves tell he feels somebody is watching him.
We see him change his attitude. He starts pretending, BREATHES HARDER, knots his brow. He raises his pen, as others raise their little fingers.
Finally, he can't stand it anymore, and turns around to see who's the creature he's putting a spell on.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
(amused)
Ça ne rate jamais…
(It never fails…)
The young woman has kept absolutely still. Her face doesn't reveal a single thing of what she is thinking, she seems truly absorbed in her own thoughts. She doesn't seem to have even noticed the man, nor his movement.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
(same)
Echec…
(Failed)
INT. THE YOUNG WOMAN'S ELEVATOR. DAY
The young woman is crying in a tiny lift, for one person only. Her grocery box is lying between her feet.
She cries like a child, lets things go loose.
INT. TINY PARISIAN FLAT. DAY
A maid's room, under the Parisian roofs. On the walls, pictures.
A young woman is sitting, very straight, on her sofa-bed.
Behind her, the pictures.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
Alors forcément, je pensais à lui tous les premiers mercredis du mois.
(So I couldn't help thinking about him every first Wednesday of the month.)
One of the pictures starts sliding slowly, because of the melted patafix, that appears, like a white chewing-gum.
YOUNG WOMAN. (V.O.)
Les premiers mercredis. Du moi. A toi.
(The first Wednesdays of the month. From me. To you.)
The picture falls, with a quick 'PLOCK!', behind the sofa-bed. The young woman hasn't moved at all.
INT. THE MAID'S ROOM. NIGHT.
The maid’s room. Shelves covered with books, DVDs, CDs, empty bottles she keep in memories (Champagne, good wine, vodka with fur).
YOUNG WOMAN(V.O.)
(in an exhausted whisper)
Deux choses…
(Two things.)
We hear a SLOW ROCK SONG, filling the scene with melancholy.
The young woman comes home, in her tiny maid's flat. She closes the door in a hurry, doesn't take her coat off, nor her earphones, and runs to the toilets, out of frame.
She comes back into the room, starts undressing, her earphones still playing in her ears. She ends up naked, her mp3 in her hands.
She's kept the earphones, and the song keeps playing.
She stays there, white and straight, puts the mp3 on the table, the black wire on her milky skin. She puts her hair into a bun, and sticks the mp3 inside it, to hold it.
She enters the kitchen.
We hear BOILING WATER
INT. THE MAID'S ROOM TOILETS. NIGHT.
The song is still playing.
The extremely narrow toilets, in the tiny maid's room.
The door is open on the room. On the door, a great mirror, in which the young woman, sitting on the toilets, is reflected.
She's still dressed in her beautiful coat, with a fake fur collar. Her thick hair is a little wild and curly, on the fur. Her thighs are extremely white, compared to her pants' black color.
In the mirror, she stares at her own reflection, looking hurt, but trying not to show this other woman, in the mirror, who’s looking at her.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
I hate the easiness with which blues fades away…
INT. MAID'S ROOM. NIGHT
The young woman is in her bed. There's a man next to her, blurred, dark.
She is setting her alarm clock, and groans softly, almost as if she were making love.
Her fingers are turning the alarm-clock's little wheel, and it is pressuring the tender skin, right under the bitten nail.
We hear the man's SOFT LAUGH at her side.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
He was in love with lust, I was in lust for love.
INT. MAID'S ROOM. DAY.
The young woman in her empty white bed.
YOUNG WOMAN (OFF)
"Elle vivait entre quatre murs. Chaleur et toits. Le patafix s'amolissait, pendante guimauve.
(whispering)
Et ploc ! "
(She was living between four walls. Heat and rooves. The patafix melted, like a white chewing-gum.
Et ploc !)
We hear the first Wednesday of the month's city ALARMS.
EXT. RUE CHARLOT, PARIS. NIGHT.
The street lights are on, the thick leaves of the trees, that make the city look like a theater set.
YOUNG WOMAN (V.O.)
C'est un château ? Mais non, c'est la Bosnie.
C'est la Bosnie, Hé non, c'est un château.
(Is it a castle ? Oh no, it’s Bosnia.
Is it Bosnia ? Oh, no, it’s a castle.)
INT. MAID'S ROOM. DAY
On the right side of the frame, an arm. The hand is holding a mobile phone, as if it were a forgotten bird, that couldn't sing anymore.
By the Velux window, above the beads, we see the blue sky, with white clouds and white smoke from the planes passing by.
INT. MAID'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.
The flat is well lit, warm.
The young woman, still wearing make-up, is in her bed, reading.
She's wearing a nice red night dress, with black lace.
We hear the LIFT coming up.
She straightens, listening. Her eyes stop reading.
We hear the LIFT DOOR OPEN.
And FOOTSTEPS approaching.
She closes her eyes. Stops breathing. Wishing with all her soul.
A few silent seconds, then a lock opening.
Her whole body falls back down, as her hopes.
The book is still open, she's stops reading.
EXT. CHâTEAU DE VINCENNES, ON THE GRASS. DAY
The young woman is lying on the grass, in a beautiful tree's shadow. We only see the green grass and the green trees around her.
Next to her, the same guy who was in her bed, still blurred.
The sky is grey, threatening.
The young woman’s face is relaxed, her eyes are closed.
The first drops fall on her white skin, on her eyelids.
As they become thicker and more frequent, the woman starts LAUGHING quietly, then STRONGER, until she turns around to hide underneath the man's winter coat.
Her head is protected by the coat, we can only see her hair, but still hear her LAUGHING.
She goes back to her initial position.
Brilliant sunshine.
There is no one next to her anymore.
Her eyes are closed, her white skin irradiates, bathed in the sunshine. From her closed eyes, tears appear.
INT. MAID'S ROOM- DAY
The twenty year old boy, THE BROTHER, from sequence 3, is sitting on the sofa bed. On the table, a red bowl full of a steamy soup.
He seems preoccupied.
THE BROTHER
(serious)
La vie est de plus en plus chère.
(beat)
Surtout au 8 à 8.
(Life is more and more expensive.
Especially at "8 à 8"'s [a French supermarket].)
INT. COCKTAIL BAR. NIGHT.
A hype bar, with a nice atmosphere.
The young woman is sitting with a good-looking friend. Next to them, a bunch of PhDs, wearing nice suits, happy-hour-after-work-like.
They are all sitting in the same position, staring in the distance, with their right hands on a glass, their left ones on their knees, their straws in their mouths: they are drinking.
The two girlfriends have stars in their eyes : it is their second or third cocktail, and time for secrets.
Normalement oui. Il me rejoint après la pièce.
(Yeah, normally. He's gonna meet me after the play.)
She bends to take her straw directly with her mouth, without using her hand. She drinks, and looks at her friend, with mischievous, laughing eyes.
Her friend drinks in the same way, and looks at her with sparkling eyes.
The young woman straightens on her chair, seems to be amused by her thought.
J'ai juste une seule question…
(I just have one question…)
As in a dream, she doesn't look at her friend anymore, but stares in the distance, deep in her thoughts, a smile floating on her face.
Smiling, she looks back to her friend, as she starts expressing her idea.
Est-ce que le sperme canadien a un goût sirop d'érable ?
(Does Canadian sperm taste like maple syrup?)
She remains lost in thought, while a discreet smile appears on her face.
EXT. MARCHé DES ENFANTS ROUGES, PARIS- DAY
The Marché des Enfants Rouges, in a lovely sunny morning.
The regular visitors are buying flowers.
A couple and a group of friends are eating a tagine, at the Moroccan restaurant.
The regular visitors begin their Saturday drunkenness with a glass of white wine on the bar's terrace.
EXT. PLACE DE POLYTECHNIQUE, PARIS. DAY
The coffees, the students, the tourists on the terraces, still wearing their scarfs.
The flowering cherry trees.
The trees with thick foliage, in the Halles garden, where they become orchards.
(through telephone, simply)
(Me? I'm waiting for you.)
The same frame, same light, same set as in sequence 1.
The young woman enters the frame, walking with a light step, towards a tall brown-haired man that we catch sight of, at a distance. He seems to be smiling to her, waiting.
