Original subtitles

Dear Red Shoes, I don't keep a diary.

Even this is difficult for me.

Not to tell you my story, but to write a letter.

To write subjectively.

To try and express emotions as words.

You see, I was trained to repress emotion.

To think, behave, and account for my actions with the barest minimum of

But what I found out about myself through this experience is that I'm

quite good with words.

Pushed against the wall, I think I could talk anybody into just about anything.

So it'll be good, Stella.

Do you work out?

Of course you do. I don't know a single person in the city who doesn't go to the

gym.

But maybe that's because I'm always there, seven days a week, whenever I'm

working.

I love looking at men's bodies.

I mean, love looking at men's bodies.

Biceps, torsos, hamstrings,

abs.

And like 98 % of the faithful, I'm here to check out and to

be checked out.

There is, however, that 2 % of the faithful who go to the gym simply to

out.

The super dedicated.

The ones who never look at anyone else.

Not even themselves.

At the Westside Body Connection, that 2 % was a racquetball player.

His name was Nick.

Nick Willett.

That was all I knew about him.

He wasn't like anybody else in the gym.

He was the only man in two years of coming to the gym who never noticed me.

Never.

Three times a week, he'd show up at the gym, beat somebody, and leave.

And those eyes, those beautiful eyes.

He was an extraordinary being.

To meet him, I had to employ extraordinary means.

There was no way he wasn't going to notice me tonight.

I'd already gone too far.

I was committed.

There was no turning back.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Like my daddy used to say, anything worth doing is worth doing right.

License and registration, please.

Did it change the speed limit here?

Nick Willard?

That's you?

Yes, ma 'am. Yes, officer.

Would you step out of the car, please, Mr. Willard?

Yes, ma 'am.

You know you ever broke into LA?

No.

I didn't this morning.

Step up to the curb, please.

I beg your pardon?

Step up to the curb, please.

I beg your pardon, officer. What for?

Arms out at your side.

Head back, eyes closed.

Just the tip of your nose with your right index finger.

Okay, Mr. Willard, I've seen enough. Step over to the fence.

Excuse me? Step over to the fence.

I think you owe me some sort of explanation.

Put your hands up on the fence. Spread your legs.

What's the charge?

Driving with a broken taillight.

Violation of vehicle code 24600.

You're risking me for a broken taillight? Keep it forward, Mr. Willett.

Place your right hand behind your neck.

Now the left.

This is ridiculous.

What the fuck is this?

You're digging yourself a hole here, Mr. Willett.

I mean, you're arresting me for a traffic misdemeanor?

Aren't you going to read me my rights?

Want to hear your rights?

You have the right to remain silent.

I took him to an artist's loft in the middle of the city.

A place we'd done a drug bust the night before.

I know.

I must have been crazy.

Putting my job on the line.

Abusing the authority of my badge.

But I'd thought about it.

This was the only way.

I have $200 in my wallet. Take it.

Take my watch, whatever you want.

I don't know why I chose the place.

Maybe because I felt it was the place he belonged.

I could see him there on opening night.

With all those models.

All those well -dressed people.

And then there were the chairs.

You like art, Nick?

I don't know much about it, but...

Lately, it's just gotten under my skin, you know?

And there's a guy who spends $28 million and builds some yellow umbrellas out in

the desert.

Take them down in three weeks.

Can you imagine that?

What's that compared to barber chairs?

Gigs up, Costello.

Gangster.

one of those singing telegrams.

Shhh.

Rule number one.

I talk, you listen.

My game.

Play by the rules.

My rule.

You look good, Nick.

I mean, you always look good, but tonight you look especially good.

Do I know you?

No.

You don't know me.

You don't know me. I'm just a woman, just like every other woman.

Why should you know me?

I've got to tell you, you don't strike me as an average woman.

Thank you, Nick.

I appreciate you saying that.

That's why you're here.

I'm going to convince you that I'm not an average woman.

Aren't you even going to ask me my name?

McCabe.

It's on your badge.

So, you do notice things.

How about remembering things?

Would you remember my first name if I told it to you?

It's office.

Isn't it?

My friends call me Lynn.

Aren't you worried about me turning you in, Lynn?

Turn me in, Nick, if you want to.

But I don't think you want to.

Think of the humiliation.

Wouldn't do your career much good now, would it, Nick?

You look like a lawyer.

Why the blindfold?

Because, Nick, beneath this uniform,

you may not like what you see.

Then again, where...

Now, you see, Nick, you made it perfectly clear.

I'm not up to standard.

When was that?

Every day.

Five days a week.

The past two years.

Working out at the same gym.

Never once noticed me.

Not a nod.

Not a hello.

You didn't even recognize me when I pulled you over.

I go to the gym to play racquetball, not to flirt.

So, where do you do your flirting, Nick?

I don't.

I work.

I work out.

And I work.

Do you work with the same intensity that you play racquetball?

Put it this way.

I never lose.

Really?

Do you make love with the same intensity?

You know, I've always wondered if it's the same thing.

Damn it, I'd take it to say...

Run a marathon.

Play two hours of racquetball.

Stay in power in bed.

I used to run long distance.

But it's hard on a woman.

It affects your metabolism.

Sometimes women's bodies are pleasing.

So I've heard.

What else have you heard about women, Nick?

What else do you know?

Do you know how attractive you are to them?

You should hear what they say about you in the women's locker room.

You should hear their fantasies.

I'd like to hear your fantasies, Nick.

Do you ever fantasize about women in uniform?

Candy stripe.

I was having my tonsils out.

No, Nick, I mean, don't you like to play dress -up?

I do. I do it all the time.

Some men really understand what it's like to play dress -up.

My father did.

He was a sergeant major in the Marine Corps.

You should have been a boy.

Lynn.

I'm glad you're not a boy.

How glad, Nick?

Not glad enough.

Yet.

You're really good friends.

What do they call you?

You can call me Linny, Nick.

No.

You're really good friends.

Mona.

My real name's Mona.

Mona.

Lynn.

McCabe.

The

question is,

do you believe in safe sex?

I do.

In this day and age, it would be irresponsible not to. Don't you think?

I spent over 45 minutes in the drugstore today trying to decide which brand to

buy.

I spoke with both pharmacists.

All those colors.

I hope the one I chose doesn't disappoint you.

Listen. Mona.

Good.

That's... That's good, Nick.

That's very good.

On a scale from 1 to 10, now I'd say I, uh, gained

a few points.

All set.

And now, we wait.

Wait for what?

Rule number two.

We wait for you to ask me to make love to you.

I don't do anything unless you ask me to.

You know anything about men?

You know that my temporary physical condition...

doesn't necessarily mean that I want to make love to you.

My cleaning lady, my bank teller, my Aunt Louise, all give

me hard -ons.

Doesn't mean I want to make love to them.

Tell me about your cleaning lady.

Your big teller.

Aunt Louise.

They've never been this close to you.

Stand still.

You broke the rules, Officer McCabe.

Who gives a fuck?

I hope you enjoyed yourself.

Get involved with me.

You surrendered to me.

Your every thought.

All of it.

They belong to me.

Started out as a battle, quickly escalated into a war.

Neither of us willing to give up control.

As soon as we stopped making love, we'd start again.

Over and over and over again.

Until eventually, mister, I'd go to the gym to work out, not to flirt.

Started to crack.

To a point where...

I actually think he began to like me.

Listen

to

me, tough guy. I'm tired of this bullshit.

It's been a month now.

back to work. Oh, shit.

From now on, we're going to have a normal relationship, you and me.

Oh, shit.

I'm going to buy you lingerie and a dress and a car, anything you want. I'm

going to take you to dinner. I'm going to pay for it. Oh, shit. We're going to

go to bed at 11 like normal fucking people and watch the fucking news.

And we're going to go to Ohio.

And I'm going to meet your grandma. And she's going to like me. And I'm going to

like her.

Just like normal, normal people.

Like my daddy said, play to win.

And never, ever give up control.

Never give up control.

Never give up control.

Maybe for a little while.

But in the end, somebody's gonna lose.

And the harder you play, the harder you fall.

But at least they got it out in the open.

At least they're facing it head on.

So, tell me, Stella, what do you do to your flirting?