So there were two funerals, both on the same day: Clark’s at the United Church two blocks from Clark’s house; Martin’s in the Catholic Church downtown in the old neighborhood where the Genoveses used to live before they made it big. Martin’s funeral was at 11:00 AM, Clark’s at 1:00 PM, which meant that the people at Martin’s funeral who knew both Martin and Clark kept glancing at their watches, calculating how much time they would need to get uptown and find parking in order to be on time for Clark’s service. Some kids—insensitive jerks, if you ask me—slipped out of the church before Martin’s body even came down the aisle. But not me. And not Gina. I made her stay with me to the end. We grabbed a taxi. We arrived at Clark’s funeral a little late, mostly because of traffic, but I didn’t think anyone would notice, and we didn’t mean any disrespect.
After the service, I approached the Carsons. I wanted Gina to come with me, but she said no, she wasn’t good at talking to people who had just lost a loved one. Some friend! It wasn’t as if I’d had tons of practice. My stomach churned as I wormed my way through the crowd that had gathered around Mr. and Mrs. Carson. They were watching Clark’s casket being loaded into the hearse.
“Tegan,” Mrs. Carson said, managing to look down at me even though we were the same height. “So glad you could make it for at least part of the service.” There was no warmth in her voice, only disapproval.
Mr. Carson turned when he heard my name. His eyes were hard and as cold as his wife’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to be late. It’s just that—”
They turned their backs on me. I was so stunned that tears started to roll down my cheeks.
Someone grabbed my elbow and pulled me away. It was Gina.
“I don’t think they’re mad because we were late,” she said in a soft voice that no one else could hear. “I think it’s just, you know, the circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know.” Gina squirmed, as if she all of a sudden had to pee.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“Because you were there.”
“So?”
“Because you told the cops you didn’t see anything.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“I know,” Gina said quickly. “I just think they’re having trouble understanding that.” She hesitated a moment. “A lot of people are, Teeg.”
A lot of people? I felt like crying all over again.
Gina put her arm around me. It made me feel good, like at least one person believed me. Then she said, “Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”
“Am I sure?”
“What I mean is—”
“Am I sure?” What was the matter with her? “Don’t you think that if I’d seen anything—anything at all— I would have told the cops?”
“I’m just saying—”
“It happened so fast. It was over before I knew what was going on.”
Gina was looking around nervously, and no wonder. People were staring at me. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Carson through the crowd. They were looking at me too.
“I didn’t see anything,” I hissed. Then I got out of there.
ELEVEN
Kelly
INT.—TYRELL LIVING ROOM—DAY
KELLY is sitting in the living room, staring into space. She is wearing a black skirt, a black sweater and black tights. In her hand is a prayer card, a memento from Martin’s funeral. She looks up listlessly when she hears the front door open. TEGAN and GINA appear, both dressed as if for a funeral. TEGAN looks like she’s been crying. GINA is trying to comfort her.
GINA
(as if by rote)
Just ignore them. They’re upset. You really can’t blame them.
KELLY
Who’s upset?
TEGAN
(ignoring her sister)
They hate me.
KELLY
Who hates you?
GINA
They don’t hate you. They just lost their son. And after what happened to Scott…
KELLY
You’re crying because of the Carsons? They’re total snobs. And Clark was such an ass—TEGAN swings around and slaps Kelly hard on the face. The sound echoes in the suddenly silent room. GINA stares at her friend in disbelief. She looks uncomfortable.
GINA
Maybe I should go.
TEGAN
No, don’t.
KELLY has a hand to her cheek where Tegan slapped her. She turns slowly and leaves the room.
CUT TO:
INT.—KELLY’S BEDROOM—DAY
KELLY enters her room. She slowly and deliberately closes the door behind herself and crosses to her dresser. She stares into the mirror at the red hand mark on her cheek.
KELLY
(to the camera as she looks into the mirror) He was an asshole. Clark Carson was an asshole, and if you ask me, his parents are to blame. He thought he was better than anyone else. He gave people a hard time all the time.
DISSOLVE TO FLASHBACK:
INT.—HIGH SCHOOL HALLWAY—DAY
A short, thin boy is carrying a stack of textbooks down the hall. Suddenly he topples forward. The books fly out of his hands in slow motion. In slow motion— and in silence—they cascade to the floor. So does the boy. The camera pulls back to reveal a foot sticking out into the hall. The camera pans slowly up the foot, the leg, the torso, to a silently laughing face. It is CLARK’s face. The sound kicks in. CLARK is laughing. Everyone in the hall is laughing—except the boy on the floor, and KELLY, who watches in disgust from down the hall.
CUT BACK TO:
INT.—KELLY’S BEDROOM—DAY
KELLY is facing the camera.
KELLY
He was one of those guys who got a real kick out of making other people miserable.
DISSOLVE TO FLASHBACK:
INT.—HIGH SCHOOL CAFETERIA—DAY
A chubby girl is sitting alone at a small table at the back of the cafeteria. On the table in front of her is a plastic container. Inside are carrot and celery sticks. The girl is munching slowly on these as she leafs through a fashion magazine. Around her, the cafeteria bustles with the usual lunchtime comings and goings. The background noise is a cacophony of talking and laughing. A PIZZA DELIVERY GUY appears, carrying three large pizza boxes. He walks toward the rear of the cafeteria. Kids stop what they are doing to look at him. He keeps walking. He doesn’t stop until he gets to the chubby girl’s table.
PIZZA DELIVERY GUY
Gail Worthington?
GAIL
(confused)
Yes?
The PIZZA DELIVERY GUY sets the pizza boxes on Gail’s table.
GAIL (CONT’D)
I didn’t order these.
The PIZZA DELIVERY GUY takes a pitch pipe out of his pocket and blows into it. He starts to sing.
PIZZA DELIVERY GUY
Gail, we know you’re trying hard
To shed unwanted weight,
To take off all that fat and lard
So you can get a date.
GAIL glances around. Everyone is staring at her. She slouches in her chair and looks as if she wishes she could melt away.
PIZZA DELIVERY GUY (CONT’D)
You’ve given up the things you love
Like ice cream, cake and pie.
You’ve traded them for veggie sticks.
It’s so sad, we could cry.
But we’ve seen your sacrifice.
And the discipline you’ve found.
So here’s our gift to you, dear Gail,
For losing one whole pound.
The cafeteria explodes in laughter. GAIL is mortified. She stares at the pizza boxes. Tears well up in her eyes. The PIZZA DELIVERY GUY retreats. We see a hand reach out with money. The camera pans slowly up the arm to the shoulder, then the face. CLARK laughs as he presses the money into the pizza delivery guy’s hand.
CUT BACK TO:
INT.—KELLY’S BEDROOM—DAY
KEL
LY
Yeah, a real jerk. He was the kind of guy who could turn you into a jerk. You know, into one of those people who laughs at other people’s misfortune. Well, at his misfortune. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Take the time I had that dentist’s appointment. I’d just finished and I stepped out onto the street. It was like a neutron bomb had gone off or something. There was nothing moving out there except for me. Then I saw a car slide by.
DISSOLVE TO FLASHBACK:
EXT.—CITY STREET—DAY
A black Lexus van slides past KELLY, who is standing on the sidewalk. The van stops and then begins to back into a parking space. But before it can get there, a second car, also a Lexus, zips into the space headfirst. The driver of the second car gets out, grinning. It’s CLARK. He spots Kelly and waves to her. KELLY groans and rolls her eyes. She watches the first car pull into another parking spot farther down the street. The driver gets out. He opens the rear hatch of the van and then walks away from the car. KELLY frowns. What is he doing? Meanwhile, CLARK, oblivious of the other driver, approaches Kelly.
CLARK
If it isn’t the other Tyrell twin.
KELLY
(annoyed)
We’re not twins.
KELLY looks over Clark’s shoulder. The DRIVER of the other car is fast approaching. He’s not an especially big man. In fact, he’s rather slight, although he is easily as tall as Clark. He is dressed head-to-toe in black—black jeans, black T-shirt, long black overcoat, black boots— and has shoulder-length black hair. He is dark-skinned and is wearing mirrored sunglasses. A nasty scar runs diagonally from the middle of his chin to the middle of his right cheek.
CLARK
(to Kelly)
The one with no sense of humor. The one…Hey!
The OTHER DRIVER has grabbed Clark roughly by the arm. He spins Clark around.
OTHER DRIVER
That was my space. You didn’t see me ready to back in?
CLARK
(annoyed now that he sees who is daring to touch him) No, I didn’t. Now if you don’t mind—
OTHER DRIVER
I mind. That was my spot. I was there first.
CLARK jerks his arm free.
CLARK
Well, it’s mine now.
He turns from the other driver to Kelly and is about to say something when a shrill sound rips through the air. The OTHER DRIVER has whistled. In response, two dogs bound from the back of his van and race to his side. KELLY takes an automatic step backward when she recognizes the dogs as pit bulls. They are not leashed. The OTHER DRIVER points at Clark and snaps his fingers. The dogs dart in front of Clark, growling. They look nasty.
CLARK
(trying to hide his fear)
Hey, man. Call off your dogs.
OTHER DRIVER
You owe me an apology.
CLARK
Jeez, it’s a parking space on a public street. You found another space. What’s the big deal?
The OTHER DRIVER snaps his fingers again. This time the dogs start jumping at CLARK, who can no longer hide his fear.
CLARK (CONT’D)
Jesus!
CLARK fumbles in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He pulls it out without once taking his eyes off the dogs, which are still growling.
CLARK (CONT’D)
Call them off or I’ll—
The OTHER DRIVER says “Hand,” and one of the dogs snaps at Clark’s hand. He drops his cell phone in terror as his hand flies up out of reach of the dog.
OTHER DRIVER
Or you’ll what?
KELLY moves back a few more steps. No way does she want to get involved in this. She doesn’t want the other driver to know she even knows Clark.
OTHER DRIVER (CONT’D)
There are other commands I can give them. Ones you won’t like.
CLARK says nothing.
OTHER DRIVER (CONT’D)
Like att—
The OTHER DRIVER breaks off as a wet patch appears on the front of Clark’s pants. He has wet himself. KELLY stares at him. The OTHER DRIVER grins.
OTHER DRIVER (CONT’D)
About that apology…
CLARK
I’m sorry, okay? Jesus! I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
The OTHER DRIVER snaps his fingers and the dogs fall instantly silent.
OTHER DRIVER
Don’t let it happen again.
He says “Heel,” and the two dogs fall in on either side of him. KELLY watches him walk away. CLARK stands motionless for a full minute. Finally, in a small, strangled-sounding voice, he speaks.
CLARK
Is he gone?
KELLY nods. CLARK turns around. His whole body seems to sag with relief. He turns back to KELLY, who is staring at his crotch. CLARK’s face turns red. He takes off his jacket and holds it in front of himself.
CLARK (CONT’D)
If you tell anyone about this…
KELLY just stares at him. She watches him walk to his own car, then pause, then walk up to the other driver’s car, where he stands, studying it. Finally he gets back into his own car. A moment later it squeals away from the curb, and KELLY starts to laugh.
KELLY
(to herself )
Where’s an audience when you need one?
CUT BACK TO:
INT.—KELLY’S BEDROOM—DAY
KELLY
(to the camera)
The thing is, I didn’t tell. I wanted to. But I kept seeing the look on his face—not Clark’s face, the other guy’s. He was mean. And those dogs? They were weapons, and the guy knew it. I don’t know. After everything Clark did, there are a lot of kids who would have pissed themselves laughing over that story. But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell. Not even Tegan. Clark didn’t look at me for weeks. After that, well, when he did see me, he had a kind of scared look to him all over again, like he was afraid I was going to say something. Like he was afraid everyone was going to laugh at him like they did at Gail or at that kid in the hall he tripped.
(sighing)
I guess I didn’t tell anyone because of what my mom calls the good-guy rule. In a movie, the bad guy can do pretty much whatever heinous thing he wants— he can rape and kill and mutilate. But the good guy—he’s not supposed to do stuff like that because if he did, well, what would make him any different from the bad guy? Another way my mother puts it: “There are enough jerks in the world, Kelly. You don’t need to add to that number.” But, boy, you have no idea how close I came to spilling the beans.
TWELVE
Tegan
I hate to admit it—I hate to admit anything that will make Kelly gloat—but Clark really could be a jerk. According to Martin, it wasn’t always that way. Martin knew Clark from when they were in elementary school. The way Martin told it, Clark was so shy back then that he never looked anyone in the eye when he talked to them—that is, when he was forced to talk. He hardly ever initiated a conversation. And because he was so shy, he was always on the sidelines. When teams were picked, he was always the last one chosen.
“I guess I felt sorry for him,” Martin told me one time. “I just kept going up to him and talking to him and asking him to sit with me at lunch, stuff like that. And after a while, he kind of opened up.”
Kind of.
Clark’s brother Scott, who is three years older than Clark, was the golden boy of the family. He was good-looking (so was Clark, but back then, according to Martin, he never would have believed it). He was smart—top grades all the way through school. He was athletic—captain of the football team, star soccer player, high-scorer in his hockey league. He was a charmer—teachers liked him, adults liked him, kids his own age liked him. He could make anyone laugh. He was hugely popular.
Clark, on the other hand, had more of a struggle with school. He never actually failed anything. He was in solid B territory all the way through and, according to Martin, worked hard for those grades. But it wasn’t good enough for his teachers, who always compared h
im to Scott. It wasn’t good enough for his parents either. They demanded straight As. Clark wasn’t as good at sports as Scott had been. Sure, he made the team. But he wasn’t always first-string.
And then there was the stuttering.
When he was little, Clark had a terrible stutter. That turned out to be the reason he was so quiet and shy. The more nervous he was, the worse the stutter became. And kids, being kids, naturally made fun of him.
His parents, again, according to Martin, regarded him as damaged goods because of the stutter. His father always finished sentences for him. He told Clark he’d never make good if he didn’t learn to talk like a man. His mother was more supportive, Martin said, but she had a pained expression on her face whenever Clark spoke in front of her friends. Her solution was to send him for intensive speech therapy. He went three times a week for years. The therapist tried all kinds of ways to get him to stop stuttering.
She Said/She Saw Page 5
