Frequency Page #9

John stands looking down at the skeleton. A long beat. And

then he turns to Satch and they start for the car. Behind

them, the skeleton is carefully pulled free from the ground.

WE SEE its wrists are BOUND with GLASS TAPE.

INT. JULIA'S APARTMENT - MANHATTAN - EVENING - LATER

CHINESE TAKE-OUT CARTONS are placed in a microwave.

WIDEN TO REVEAL:

the woman holding the cartons: JULIA SULLIVAN, 29 YEARS OLDER

than the last time we saw her. But she looks okay, she looks

happy.

We are in the kitchen of Julia's Upper West Side apartment.

It is raining. We notice THE GEORGE WASHINGTON BRIDGE

outside a BAY WINDOW.

JULIA:

(calling out)

I thought it'd be nicer to eat here.

JOHN (O.S.)

Sounds good.

JULIA:

(walking into the other room)

I'm sorry Sam couldn't make it.

JOHN:

(lying badly)

Yeah, those grad school applications are

driving her crazy.

Julia hands John a Coke. Close on her face - she feels her

son's pain.

JULIA:

I'm sure everything'll work out.

(beat)

She really loves you...

JOHN:

(changing the subject)

So how are things at the hospital?

JULIA:

Fine. You know Dr. Schwartz retired last

month?

JOHN:

No kidd'n, he musta been pushing 90!

JULIA:

Close.

Beat.

JOHN:

So how'd you like LION KING?

JULIA:

Oh, I loved it. I wish you'd gone.

JOHN:

I know. I'm sorry. Work.

JULIA:

You work too hard, John.

JOHN:

Look who's talking.

They share a laugh. And then slowly the laughter dies.

John's expression changes as he quietly lights a cigarette.

Julia knows what he's thinking...

JULIA:

29-years tomorrow.

A long beat.

JOHN:

I wish I could remember him better.

Truth is, most of the stuff I know is

from the stories you used to tell. But

they're not mine. They're not my

memories. They're yours.

Julia glances at an old photo of Frank, then back to John.

JULIA:

You would have liked him, John. And he

would have liked you.

PING. The microwave timer sounds off.

INT. SULLIVAN HOUSE - STUDY - CLEAR NIGHT - 1969

CLOSE ON:

Frank's dog, Elvis. Poking his nose in a carton of Chinese

take-out on the floor. An arm drops into frame - scruffs the

puppy's back. The Rolex diver's watch tells us the arm

belongs to Frank.

WIDEN TO REVEAL:

Frank sitting at his desk. He fires up an unfiltered LUCKY

STRIKE, pops a Rheingold. Next to him a Daily News headline -

NASA INVESTIGATES SPACE STORM.

FRANK:

...WB2YXB calling unidentified station,

Queens. CQ 15.

JOHN (O.S.)

(over radio, sounds like he's

had a few drinks)

Hello?

FRANK:

I been Q-ing you all night. How the hell

did you do it?

JOHN (O.S.)

Huh?

FRANK:

The World Series. You called Buford's

homer.

JOHN (O.S.)

Wasn't too tough, buddy. Game happened

almost thirty years ago.

FRANK:

What are you talking about? I'm talking

about this afternoon.

JOHN (O.S.)

This afternoon?

Frank puts his finger on the squawk bar, about to say

something, but just at that moment his son Johnny appears in

the doorway in his pajamas.

JOHNNY:

Daddy, come up and sing the baseball.

FRANK:

(to Johnny)

I'll be up soon, Little Chief.

INT. SULLIVAN HOUSE - STUDY - RAINY NIGHT - 1998

John Sullivan's face, thunderstruck. The camera stays on

John. He puts down his drink.

FRANK (O.S.)

Sorry 'bout that.

JOHN:

What'd you just say?

FRANK (O.S.)

Oh, that was my kid.

John looks up at the photo on the wall: FRANK, JULIA AND SIX

YEAR OLD JOHNNY SULLIVAN (CIRCA 1969). A beat, then:

JOHN:

You call your son Little Chief?

FRANK (O.S.)

Uh huh...

JOHN:

What'd you say your name was?

CUT TO CLOSE ON:

FRANK:

Frank...Frank Sullivan.

NOW BACK ON:

JOHN:

Is this some kind of joke? Gordo is that

you? Are you f***ing with me?

FRANK (O.S.)

Look pal, I'm just askin' how you...

JOHN:

You're telling me your name is Frank

Sullivan, you live in Queens and you just

saw the first game of the '69

Series...live?

FRANK (O.S.)

Right...and I'm asking how you called the

game.

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