Game 6 Page #18

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Nicky reaches Laurel.

NICKY:

(crying out)

This is my daughterrrrr!

Steven is wide-eyed at the news.

LAUREL:

I don't think he knew, Daddy.

Nicky sees the photo of Steven and his cat. He shoots twice,

blows it away.

LAUREL:

Daddy, I'm sorry. But he was so

beautiful. I trusted him. When I

saw what he really looks like --

A voice from shadows:

STEVEN:

(OS)

Am I really so deeply repugnant?

LAUREL:

Yes.

NICKY:

Go home, Laurel. Tell your mother I

will be late.

Nicky walks toward Steven's voice, toward the shadows.

NICKY:

You're going to die. You're a dead

man. You're dead.

He notices Laurel following behind him.

NICKY:

Look. I'm sorry you keep running

into dishonest men. But you're only

eighteen. We can still turn it

around.

LAUREL:

Except I won't have a father

anymore.

NICKY:

I'll see you all the time. I'll get

a place right nearby. One room. No

distractions. We'll talk.

He shouts into the darkness.

NICKY:

YOU'RE DEAD!

Laurel puts her hand on his shoulder.

LAUREL:

What will we talk about?

NICKY:

Everything.

Nicky sees one of the New York Magazine ads, Steven

Schwimmer's face mounted on the cardboard. He fires three

times, wiping out Schwimmer's eyes.

LAUREL:

Will I believe you when you tell me

something?

NICKY:

There's nothing left for me to lie

about.

Nicky starts into the darkness only to see Steven emerge from

the shadows, his gun lowered. Oddly, he seems distracted by

something on another part of the room. He is looking at the

TV set on the counter.

Nicky watches him approach the kitchen area. He follows, gun

raised.

Steven sits on a stool to watch TV.

Nicky approaches warily, his gun aimed at Steven's head,

which is blue-lit by the TV screen.

NICKY:

You're dead. I see you on a morgue

slab drained of all fluids.

Laurel follows at a distance to see what they're so

interested in.

Nicky puts the gun muzzle flush against Steven's temple.

NICKY:

I see the outline of your body in

chalk on this very floor.

LAUREL:

(whispering)

Daddy, wait.

Steven is watching slow-motion footage of Bill Buckner

missing the slow roller.

STEVEN:

Then they lost?

NICKY:

Why does it matter?

STEVEN:

If they lost tonight, they'll lose

tomorrow. It's all over.

NICKY:

Why do you care?

STEVEN:

They're my team.

NICKY:

No. They're not your team. They're

my team.

Nicky c*cks the hammer.

STEVEN:

They're my team, too. I grew up on

Boyleston Street. Right by Fenway

Park. I went to fifty or sixty

games a year. All by myself. I was

one of those kids with scabby

elbows. I called out to the

players. `Look over here. Hi, I'm

Steven. My parents are divorced.'

NICKY:

I went to college in Boston so I

could be near the Red Sox. I took

summer classes and the cut them to

go to the game. My wife is from

Boston. Lillian Ziegler?

STEVEN:

The Red Sox were my world. I

surrendered my existence to a team

that couldn't win the big one.

NICKY:

If you're such a devoted fan, why

were you at the play tonight

instead of the game? Answer

carefully. This is important. You

could have gone to the theater last

night. There was no game last

night.

STEVEN:

Because I can't bear to watch. When

they lose, I die inside. It's like

some little person named Steve just

crumples up and dies. I wait for

the scores. I still die, hearing

the scores, but it's over in a

second. I can't survive the game

pitch by pitch, inning by inning.

I've done it too many times. And I

can't do it anymore.

Nicky lowers the gun.

NICKY:

I was six years old the day Pesky

hesitated throwing home and

Slaughter scored all the way from

first. That's when I knew the Red

Sox were my team. Pity and terror.

STEVEN:

When I traveled through Asia this

summer, I went to tremendous

trouble and expense to rent a car

with a phone so I could call up

Sports Phone in New York and get

the scores. I drove through the war

in Afghanistan calling Sports Phone

like every hour on the hour, for

updates.

NICKY:

What about my play?

LAUREL:

Yes. And no more evasive tactics.

STEVEN:

It's your best play, Nicky.

LAUREL:

See, Daddy.

STEVEN:

I've seen it twice. I went back

tonight to be sure. It's a brave

and honest piece of work.

LAUREL:

What else?

STEVEN:

An artistry and sensitivity you've

never shown before.

NICKY:

And you're not saying that because

of the gun in my hand?

STEVEN:

You're out of bullets.

Nicky points the gun at the palm of his own left hand and

pulls the trigger. A click.

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