Game 6 Page #5

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NICKY:

A year and a half later? You're

still brooding?

A patron approaches the table and stares at Nicky with a

fixed grin of crazed recognition.

MAN:

Yessirree Bob! Yessisree Bob!

Nicky's jaw becomes set and he pours himself a glass of wine

as the man backs off.

ELLIOT:

You don't know about obscure

writers, Nicky. How we have our

anger to nurture and love. Our

murderous fantasies for any amount

of fame, money , power and sex.

The waitress comes by. She is Paisley Porter, attractive, in

her mid-twenties.

PAISLEY:

Guys ready to order?

ELLIOT:

Paisley Porter. I didn't know you

were waiting tables.

PAISLEY:

Elliot?

ELLIOT:

(to Nicky)

This is a great young out-of-work

actress.

PAISLEY:

Elliot Litvak. Have you been ill?

And Mr. Rogan. How nice.

NICKY:

What's good?

PAISLEY:

We have a very nice pasta today.

Alla Putanesca.

ELLIOT:

Say it again.

PAISLEY:

Alla puttanesca.

ELLIOT:

(to Nicky)

Isn't she great? What did I tell

you? A talent.

INT. RESTAURANT - LATER - SAME TABLE

The food has arrived. Nicky is eating compulsively -- in

contrast to Elliot, who sips his mineral water, dabs his

mouth with a napkin, looks around the restaurant between

bites. When Nicky is finished with his food, he begins

picking among the items on Elliot's plate. Elliot uses his

fork to deflect Nicky's fork and the two men have a brief

duel with utensils, fencing silently but intently, using

knives and spoons to vary action.

EXT. STREET

The asbestos mist still clings. Men in protective suits and

masks move slowly, like moon walkers. Halted traffic,

abandoned cars. Mud covering the sidewalks and shop windows.

A gauzy stillness, dreamlike.

INT. STEVEN SCHWIMMER'S LOFT

Stillness. A slow whirling 360-degree shot. The kitchen area

is empty. The door of the portable toilet is open and no one

is inside. The makeshift wardrobe is empty except for four or

five hangers with shirts and jackets. There is no one at the

desk or exercise bike.

A sound, faint but persistent, like an intake of air.

The bathroom. The toilet bowl has been ripped out and taken

away, leaving a hole in the floor. Brownish water drips from

the tap into the wash basin, which is indelibly stained. The

drip makes a two-part sound and it matches the rhythm of the

intake of air. One-two. Pause. One-two. The bathtub has been

sprayed by a graffiti artist. Multi-colored swirls and

arabesques.

Steven is sitting on a mat in the tub, arms in the air and

folded so that his fists are close to his ears. He is in

lotus position, breathing in serious meditation -- a deep

intake of breath followed by a softer expulsion, matching the

beat of the dripping faucet.

He is still wearing the sleep mask.

INT. RESTAURANT - MAIN ROOM - LATER

The kitchen staff is eating at a group of tables pushed

together. Nicky's table has been absorbed by this cluster and

he sits reading the sports section in a tabloid and having an

espresso with his cigar.

Elliot, Paisley and actor-waiter stand at the small bar in

conversation.

Next to Nicky, two kitchen workers talk about the ball game.

FIRST MAN:

I got a good feeling about tonight

SECOND MAN:

We got Ojeda going. He pitched

beautiful last time out.

FIRST MAN:

Plus Darryl's due for a big game.

NICKY:

I hate the Mets.

SECOND MAN:

How come?

NICKY:

When the Mets lose, they just lose.

It's a flat feeling. But the Red

Sox -- here we have a rich history

of interesting ways to lose a

crucial game. Defeats that keep you

awake, that pound in your head like

the hammer of fate.

Paisley walks across the room toward the kitchen. Nicky

pauses to watch her, then resumes speaking.

NICKY:

You can analyze a Red Sox defeat

day and night for a month and still

uncover layers of complex feelings -

- feelings you didn't know you were

capable of. The pain has a memory

all of it's own.

EXT. SHEA STADIUM

The parking lot is empty. The stands are empty. A few members

of the crew move the batting cage into place for batting

practice.

INT. SHEA STADIUM - LOCKER ROOM

The empty visitor's locker room. Uniforms hang on the doors

of the lockers in preparation for tonight's game. We see the

3names Henderson, Stanley, Buckner.

INT. THE MEN'S ROOM - A LITTLE LATER

Cramped quarters. Intensely claustrophobic. Elliot at the

urinal. Nicky at the hand-dryer. An actor-waiter standing

between them at the sink.

ELLIOT:

(quoting Steven Schwimmer)

`One thing saves Elliot Litvak's

work from complete mediocrity, and

this is his lack of ambition.'

WAITER:

It gets funnier.

ELLIOT:

(zipping up)

It gets funnier. See, Nicky? They

chart the laughs. This from a

critic who lives like a fallen

monk. Whose address is a carefully

guarded secret.

WAITER:

A critic who has to disguise

himself.

NICKY:

What do you mean?

WAITER:

To go to the theater. Wears I don't

know what. Make-up, padding.

NICKY:

Why?

WAITER:

Because he is so deeply hated by so

many people in the business.

ELLIOT:

He has to disguise himself, Nicky.

WAITER:

For his own safety and peace of

mind.

The waiter squeezes past and leaves.

ELLIOT:

Do you want me to tell you what it

was like, reading that review at

the newstand with trucks rumbling

past and street vendors facing

Mecca?

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