INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
TOM and WANDA, 70-somethings, sit up in bed in pajamas and reading glasses; phones, lamps and eyeglass cases on their respective nightstands. Both wear modest wedding bands. Clock radio on Tom's shows 9:30, small vase of flowers on Wanda's. Curtains closed across the window above the headboard. Wanda peruses a Hawaiian Islands travel brochure, Tom turns a page of a grey hardcover book we know from the darker grey type is called Foglost, by H.C. Hardyn.
WANDA: So should we do a luau?
TOM: Well, what is it they say about when in Rome.
WANDA: Do as the Romans do.
TOM: Heck, I'm halfway thinkin' about takin' a surfin' lesson.
WANDA: Well that's some halfway thinking alright.
TOM: You think this ol' dog ain't got one more trick left?
WANDA: I'd pay to see it.
TOM: Won't have to, got lessons down the beach from our hotel. You just pull up under an umbrella, stick your toes in the sand and sip your Mai Tai while I hang ten.
Wanda smiles, shakes her head. A lull.
TOM (CONT.) So d'ya reckon we'll get lei'd while we're there?
Wanda's eyes go big in surprise, she looks at Tom.
WANDA: Thomas Travis Walker, my goodness.
Tom looks at her.
TOM: What? Ain't that what they call them flower necklaces they give ya when ya get off the plane.
WANDA (BEAT): Yes it is. I'm not so sure our airline does that.
TOM: Oh.
WANDA: But I think there's a very good chance we'll get lei'd when we get to our hotel.
He looks at her, she winks. He closes his book and sets on his nightstand, Wanda does the same with her brochure. They put their glasses in their cases, look at each other as they TURN OFF THEIR LAMPS TO BLACK. CREAK OF BED SPRINGS.
