BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN:
LEAKED SCENE FROM THE SEQUEL SCRIPT
BROKEBACK II:
THE REUNION
THE ROXY, NEW YORK, CIRCA 1990. Go-go boys, thumping music. Supermodels
Linda Evangelista and Tatjana Patitz are canoodling on a swing over the
dance floor. Camera pans to the VIP room in the back. We see ENNIS
sitting on a Wedgwood-blue sofa, wearing some vaguely ludicrous
Gaultier attire. He’s getting a lap dance from a very young man. A
chorus of drag queens is chanting “Happy birthday! Take it off!” in
time with the music. JACK quietly enters the room. Almost immediately,
ENNIS notices him. He shoves the go-go boy to the floor and bolts to
his feet. The DJ’s record scratches to a stop, and everyone in the
place turns to look. You could hear a tab of ecstasy drop into a pile
of cotton balls it’s so quiet.)
ENNIS: (Softly, moving toward JACK) Jack? Jack Twist! You’re alive!
JACK: Hell, yes, I’m alive! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for
nearly a goddamn decade to tell you.
ENNIS: But...but how?
JACK: Lureen made the whole thing up--all that shit about the tire and
all. We'd done got a divorce, and she was as mad as an old wet hen.
Wanted some revenge, I guess.
ENNIS: Why, that cockgobbling bitch! …Hell, somebody pass us a coke
spoon—we got some celebratin’ to do!
JACK: Coke spoon?
ENNIS: (Pulling a tiny spoon from a powder blue bag) Ain’t it divine?
It ain't really meant for coke--it’s just one of them old saccharine
spoons. Tiffany hadn’t made ‘em in years, but they minted a batch just
for lil’ ol’ me! I gave ‘em out as Christmas presents. You want one?
JACK: No, thanks.
ENNIS: I could have it engraved! I know the best little ol' jewelry
shop on 47th Street. They got a staff of nothing but pygmies from the
rainforest—-smallest hands in the world, I kid you not!
JACK: I said no, thanks.
ENNIS: (Turning to the nearest drag queen) Esmerelda, please grab Jack
a campari and soda--hold the twist! (Hugs JACK) Oh, I crack myself up!
Now run along, dear, and bring it to stall number three—it’s my
birthday wish, so you can't refuse me! (Squinting toward the DJ booth)
Go ahead, Kenny dear. Play on!
(Music picks up where it left off. ENNIS drags JACK to the men’s
bathroom. They cut to the front of the line, ENNIS pounds on the door
of stall number three. Sandra Bernhard and Ingrid Casares emerge,
swigging orange juice and laughing uncontrollably. They air-kiss ENNIS.
JACK and ENNIS enter the stall, and ENNIS locks the door behind them.)
ENNIS: (Rummaging in his Issey Miyake handbag) Now give me just a
second, I need to touch up my face. Old gray mare ain’t what she used
to be…
JACK: Ennis… What the hell done happened to you?
ENNIS: (ENNIS bristles. Pause.) I turned fifty. So did you, might I
add. (Holding JACK’s face up to the light) Ugh! Darling, be honest with
me: you've never used a drop of moisturizer, have you? (Not waiting for
an answer) You simply have to try this new eye gel from Princess
Marcella Borghese—don’t you just love saying that? Say it real fast
with me: Marcella Borghese! Marcella Borghese! Marcella Borghese!
JACK: Stop it, Ennis!
ENNIS: Hush! (Peeks over top of stall) I’m known as DJ Superstar
Laff-a-Lympics now. You'll ruin my cred!
JACK: Look what you’ve turned into….
ENNIS: (Cutting JACK off before he can finish the insult) A fabulous
creature of the night? Well, thank you, sweetie.... (Pulling out a
compact, powdering his nose. Pause.) You know, it wasn't easy for
me.... After you died--I'm sorry: allegedly died--I kinda went off the
deep end. I moved to Jackson, turned some tricks, and quickly became
known as Jackson’s other hole. Before long, I became shallwesay
especially friendly with a hideously wealthy rancher, who died a few
years later, leaving me his estate outside Cheyenne, a home in
Southampton, and a penthouse here in the city. I sold the Long Island
place--Sally Jesse Raphael bought the house next door, and try as I
might, I just couldn’t bear the thought of her tottering over at all
hours, asking to borrow a cup of catsup for one of her infamous
late-night sandwiches. For five or six years now, I’ve lived
exclusively in the city, and I must say, I’ve done rather well for
myself, don't you think? (Leans in to kiss JACK) .
JACK: Except now you're a goddamn faggot.
ENNIS: (Slowly pulling a cigarette from his bag) Funny but as I recall,
you were always the one craving a nice hard cock up your ass. (Lights
up, exhales) Or does memory cruelly deceive me?
JACK: Look at you, with your drugs and your face powder and your eye
gel and your Camp...uh, Campichi--
ENNIS: Campari.
JACK: Whatever. And your go-go boys! You ain't nothin' but a bitter old
queer!
ENNIS: Maybe so, Jack, but you know what? Those drugs? They're paid
for. The face powder is paid for. The eye gel and Campari are paid for.
And yes, the go-go boy is paid for--quite dearly paid for, might I add,
considering that I shouldn't have to pay for my own hustler on my own
birthday.... And you? How are you doing, Jack?
JACK: This ain't about me.
ENNIS: Oh, I think it is, Jack. Because deep-down, you know that you're
just like me. On the inside, anyway. You're an aging, bitter, useless
queen, and you can't handle it, can you, honey? That's not to say we
don't have our differences. (Fingering JACK's dime-store cowboy shirt)
Clearly, we do. But we're more alike than you'd care to admit. (JACK
doesn't say anything) ...Well, thank you so much for stopping by, Jack.
It was the best birthday present I've had all day. Really, it was.
We'll have to do it again sometime. I'll have that spoon ready by
then--promise! Now I have to get back to the party, but you take all
the time you need, sugar--all the time you need. (ENNIS tosses his
cigarette in the toilet) Smoking is such a nasty habit, don't you
think? But then, all the best habits are.... Ta-ta!
(ENNIS exits the stall, air-kissing half a dozen people on his way back
to the VIP room. JACK sits on the toilet, head in hands, as someone in
the next stall shoves an appendage through a gloryhole. Fade out.)
This article was originally published at sturtle.com,
and is reprinted here with the kind permission of Richard.
