Flight Page #11

the cancer ward. Take care Nicole,

you’re gonna be okay.

The GAUNT YOUNG MAN leaves, clanging away with his I.V. pole.

NICOLE wipes away her tears, we see her hospital bracelet as

well as her track marks.

NICOLE:

Chemo brain. Chemo makes you

pretty foggy.

WHIP:

Yeah?

58.

NICOLE:

They call it chemo brain, my mom

used to slur her words and get all

chatty.

WHIP:

Your mom had cancer.

NICOLE:

Breast cancer, she was only 54.

It’s quiet.

WHIP:

But why’d that guy ask you if you

were gonna die?

NICOLE:

I dunno. I flat-lined twice in the

ambulance. Heroin addicts who use

needles tend to die. Especially

women for some reason.

WHIP:

Is that right?

NICOLE:

I have a pamphlet to prove it. A

girl from AA just came to see me --

(it’s quiet)

That guy was a trip. He made it

feel like, I dunno...we were the

last people left on the planet..

(drops her smoke)

...and together we should save the

world.

NICOLE steps on her cigarette and puts the nub in her pocket.

She begins to leave. WHIP stops her.

WHIP:

Well, where should we live? If

we’re gonna save the world, where

should we do that?

NICOLE laughs.

WHIP (CONT’D)

What?

NICOLE:

You don’t want me.

WHIP laughs.

59.

NICOLE (CONT’D)

What?

WHIP:

You don’t want me either.

NICOLE’s laugh tapers off as she senses his honesty.

WHIP (CONT’D)

Where do you live?

NICOLE:

Why you wanna come visit? It’s

luxurious.

(silence between them)

I live in Bankhead, it’s south

Atlanta, near the bus station.

WHIP:

The luxurious bus station?

NICOLE:

Yeah.

WHIP:

I’ll come visit you.

NICOLE:

You’re sweet.

WHIP:

I will. What’s your address?

She measures him.

NICOLE:

I live at the Georgian Gardens on

Taylor street.

WHIP:

Georgian Gardens?

NICOLE:

Yeah.

WHIP:

How long are you staying here?

NICOLE:

Trying to stay as long as I can but

I don’t have insurance to cover

rehab. I’ll prolly be out

tomorrow.

60.

WHIP:

Oh. Okay. And you’re a masseuse?

NICOLE:

Yeah.

WHIP:

What kind of masseuse?

NICOLE:

I’ve been every kind of masseuse

there is.

There is strong tension between them. An orderly busts

through the down the stairs. This breaks their stare.

WHIP:

Good luck Nicole.

NICOLE:

You too.

WHIP leaves NICOLE where he found her.

EXT. ST. FRANCIS REGIONAL MEDICAL HOSPITAL-LOADING DOCK-DAY

WHIP is wheeled out of a service exit by an ORDERLY who also

holds the duffle bag of WHIP’s stuff around his neck. Whip no

longer wears the eye patch but has a butterfly bandage over

his left eye brow.

HARLING jumps out of his 2001 Cadillac STS and immediately

takes over, grabbing the duffel bag.

WHIP:

Thanks Mike.

The ORDERLY tries to hand WHIP a medical file. HARLING

snatches it.

HARLING MAYS:

Yeah, thanks Mike.

(Harling tips him)

Here’s 20 American.

ORDERLY MIKE:

Thanks. Good luck, sir.

HARLING hugs WHIP who hangs on tight. The ORDERLY spins the

chair around and heads back inside.

HARLING uses his key fob to remotely pop the trunk and stow

Whip’s duffel.

61.

HARLING MAYS:

This is how they get the Stones out

of Madison Square Garden, man. 4

smoked black limos fly outta the

VIP driveway and the fans jump on

the limos...mayhem. Those limos?

Empty. Meanwhile, Mick and the boys

go out the service exit into

delivery vans -- casual, rock star

type sh*t.

HARLING helps him into the front seat and they pull away.

The Stones, “Gimme Shelter” starts to play...

53

As they drive off, we see media mayhem collected in front of53

the hospital. Trucks with towers, cameramen, stringers and

newscasters add to catering trucks and coffee stands as the

vultures wait for the carrion of sound bytes and footage of

survivors.

INT. HARLING’S CADDY -- DAY

Whip watches through the rear window -- the “Media Circus”

disappears as the Caddy rounds a corner. The back seat is

piled with Whip’s clothes, most of them still on hangers.

HARLING lights a cigarette and hands one to WHIP who takes

it.

HARLING MAYS:

I couldn’t find any suitcases so I

just put your sh*t in grocery bags.

HARLING pulls a cold Becks from a cooler on the floor of the

back seat and uses a bottle opener that’s been screwed to the

dash of his car next to the radio to open the beer. He

offers the beer to WHIP who waves it off. HARLING gladly

keeps it for himself... “Gimme Shelter” continues to play...

HARLING MAYS (CONT’D)

So you’re stayin’ with me down on

University, right? It’s nice. A

lotta young people...good vibe.

Harling tosses Whip a freezer bag marked:”VEAL” -- Whip

begins to open it.

WHIP:

No. I’m gonna go to the farm.

HARLING MAYS:

The f***ing farm?

62.

WHIP:

My dad’s place. I can’t stay at my

condo.

HARLING MAYS:

I thought you sold that f***ing

place.

WHIP:

Not yet.

HARLING MAYS:

I’m not sure I wanna stay at the

farm.

WHIP:

You’re not. Just take me to the

airport to get my car.

Whip finishes opening the freezer bag -- it’s full of cash.

HARLING starts to laugh...

HARLING MAYS:

58

Veal? Really? Don’t you know the 58

first place every two-bit thief

looks is in the freezer?

EXT. ATLANTA RURAL SUBURBAN ROAD - WHIP’S FARM - DAY

WHIP’s BUICK turns off the blacktop past a small weathered

billboard:
WHITAKER CROP DUSTING. Also a real estate “FOR

SALE” sign is posted in front.

EXT. WHITAKER FARM -- DRIVEWAY -- DAY

Whip pulls into a long, dirt driveway that approaches a one-

story farm house. He gets out of the car. With his cane in

one hand, he uses his free hand to toss the grocery bags

close to the steps and heads inside.

INT. WHITAKER FARM -- LIVING ROOM - DAY

WHIP ambles in and we see the interior of the house bears the

fading patina of a proud American Family. We see PHOTOS --

WHIP in his NAVAL FLYER UNIFORM. A GROUP MILITARY PHOTO -- a

SQUADRON of NAVAL FLIERS on a carrier. WHIP’s PARENTS next

to the farm house. WHIP’s FATHER stands next to WHIP who is

holding his infant son.

63.

INT. WHITAKER FARM -- LIVING ROOM -- DESK AREA - DAY

WHIP empties his pockets onto the desk top. His keys, wallet

and his cell phone are placed next to an old rotary phone

attached to an old answering machine. WHIP plugs in his cell

phone charge, dials in for his messages and puts it in

“speaker mode” as we hear...

CELL PHONE:

You have 127 messages.

(a beep)

Message one...”Captain Whitaker,

this is Jim Court I’m with CNN.

We’d like to schedule an

interview...”

(he deletes that message)

Message two...“This is NBC

affiliate KGAT in Athens we’re

looking to contact William J.

Whitaker for...”

(he deletes and moves on)

Message three...”Captain Whitaker,

this is Karen James, media

relations with the pilots’

union...”

WHIP again deletes the message and decides to just shut the

phone down. He continues to empty his pockets. In his jacket

pocket he finds a prescription bottle of pain pills.

WHIP holds it up, opens it and pours a few out in his hand.

Rate this script:4.5 / 2 votes