Gold Page #18

KAY:

I’m just sitting here. Obviously this

is an emotional thing, but I’m not

going to let it get that way.

WELLS:

What’re you doing?

KAY:

What am I doing? Really? Okay. To make

this easier I’m sitting here making a

mental list. Of all the sh*t you never

did. A Sh*t Kenny Never Did List.

WELLS:

Kay -

KAY:

For instance... my “yard” -- it’s

pebbles and weeds. The “grass.” The

“sprinklers.” That’s next weekend. The

big hole in the back yard -- I mean,

the “pool.” Remember that? Because all

I see is crabgrass. And you. I see

you, Wells.

She starts to cry. And is mad at herself for it.

93.

And now she’s on her walk staring at the grass growing between

the cracks and through her tears she starts ripping at it and

throwing it at him.

KAY (CONT’D)

You see all this? See how hard it is?

It’s not hard. Look at me. Look. So

I’m just going to stay here with my...

WELLS:

Kay --!

She starts kicking his stuff. Kicking it at him.

KAY:

Take your stupid crap... Take it...

and leave my stupid crapgrass -

And then she stops, realizing the thing she didn’t want to

happen --getting massively upset -- has happened.

KAY (CONT’D)

Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re

becoming, I don’t want to go with you

or become that.

WELLS:

Kay... Kay, I’m sorry.

KAY:

You’re always saying that where I’m

concerned. Go say you’re sorry

somewhere else for a while.

She goes inside and slams the front door behind, leaving him

outside with all his stuff. Which he now starts collecting.

94.

He throws it in the trunk of the car as HART HUBBARD,

neighbor, comes around the side of his house.

HART HUBBARD:

Is this a bad time?

WELLS:

Go f*** yourself, Hart.

Wells gets in and without a look back drives away.

EXT. THE THREE GREENHORNS BAR - DAY/NIGHT

Wells pulls into the bar parking lot. The new leather interior

mocking him. Flicks ashes haphazardly at the console ashtray

and we see he’s already got a bunch of burn holes.

CNBC REPORTER (O.S.)

...Major news on Wall Street. Washoe

stock was off nearly fifty points at

the opening bell this morning...

The caddy parked outside in daytime. Then it’s night time.

INT. THE THREE GREENHORNS BAR - NIGHT

Wells sits alone, unsteadily, at the bar. He watches the CNBC

MARKET REPORT. Roy watches Wells with concern as he pours the

last shot from a bottle of Seagrams.

CNBC REPORTER (ON TV)

...On news of the Suharto government’s

revocation of Washoe’s exploration

rights... There is talk of a deal in

place for Mark Hancock of Newport

Holdings to take over Washoe’s stake.

President and CEO Kenny Wells has not

commented publicly on the news.

Roy picks up the remote, about to flip...

WELLS:

I’ll comment. They stole it. They

goddamn stole it.

(drinks)

I’m gonna need another.

95.

ROY:

You’re gonna need to go home, Kenny.

WELLS:

Yeah okay, Roy. A roadie then-

ROY:

How ‘bout a cab.

Wells just looks at Roy. By the look on his face, this could

go bad. But a smile comes to Wells's face as he slides off the

stool, wobbles onto his feet. It’s not a friendly smile.

WELLS:

Piece of advice, Roy, and you should

take my word on this. You ain’t the

only game in town.

ROY:

Go home, Kenny.

And as he sways for the door, Roy watching him sadly, WE...

STANTON (O.S.)

I’m telling anyone who’ll listen, we

have legal remedies. There will be a

settlement...

EXT. WASHOE HEADQUARTERS - DAY

The late afternoon sun sets the gold WASHOE sign aglow. As a

tired Mike Acosta gets out of a taxi. And takes in Reno in all

its desolate glory.

STANTON (O.S.)

...None of which I really believe by

the way...

INT. WASHOE HEADQUARTERS - DAY

Burns and Connie listen to Stanton.

STANTON:

I stemmed the bleeding for now, but

the bottom’s gonna fall out.

Scottie Nevins goes looks out the window.

NEVINS:

Kenny was at the Greenhorn all night-

rough. Roy bounced him. And I swung by

the house. Kay tossed him out.

Acosta enters.

96.

ACOSTA:

Look at this. It’s like a clown car.

Trying to work the pedals with your

clown feet.

(beat)

Where is he?

INT. KAY’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Kay is asleep in her bed. She’s awakened by the RINGING PHONE.

INTERCUT:

WELLS AT A PAY PHONE -

KAY’S ANSWERING MACHINE (O.S.)

This is us, we can’t get to the phone

right now. You know what to do.

BEEP. ON KAY -- silence on the line. Then -- CLICK.

WELLS -- he hangs up. He has to steady himself as he fishes

out more coins. He dials.

ON KAY -- the phone rings again. This time she turns on the

bedside lamp, sitting up listening.

WELLS (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)

Kay, it’s me. Are you there? If

you’re there will you pick up?

Hearing his voice hurts, but she’s not picking up.

WELLS is barely able to hold his head up, slogging through his

words. Cue the pity-party string section -

WELLS (CONT’D)

Okay... guess you’re not home, then.

I was just calling to... I just wanted

to hear your voice. I screwed up,

Kay... I thought I could stake a

claim, and build something, something

real, that’s all I wanted... with

you... with Washoe...

(beat, sincere)

You were right. You were right.

The line goes silent. Kay looks stricken, but she fights the

urge to pick up. Wells leans his forehead against the phone --

drifts off for a second. He comes-to with a start.

97.

WELLS (CONT’D)

Kay? It’s me... I’m gonna stop now.

I’m not calling anymore -

She quickly picks up just as Wells hangs up -

KAY:

Hello?

Too late. Wells staggers a few paces and tries to light a

cigarette, but he’s too f***ed up to pull it off. He throws it

away, turns back to the phone, searches around for change.

He’s out of change.

EXT. PAY PHONE AREA - MORNING

Wells passed out under the phone, receiver dangling. The caddy

parked at an odd angle, half over a curb. Door open. DINGING.

Then a boot pauses above him. Kicks him. Kicks him harder.

WELLS'S POV, staring up into a BACKLIT FIGURE. Another kick, a

voice from far away, the voice of God -

ACOSTA:

Get up. Get up.

A stunned look, the sun in his eyes, the sickness of booze.

ACOSTA (CONT’D)

You don’t get to make the mistake AND

feel sorry for yourself. It’s one or

the other, mate.

WELLS:

Would’ve been confused about who’s

kicking me when I’m down, then I heard

the condescension...

ACOSTA:

You haven’t heard anything yet.

He starts to kick him again, but Wells pulls Acosta's legs out

from under him. And it’s on: a release of drunken pent-up fury

and failure, sloppy and real. They flail, tackle, expending

the agony of mutual failure, until they’re both wiped out,

sprawled on their backs.

ACOSTA (CONT’D)

I propose a draw.

98.

INT. MOTEL BATHROOM - LATER

A JET OF COLD WATER ON WELLS.

INT. MOTEL BATHROOM - LATER

The shower is still running.

ACOSTA (O.S.)

How are you doing in there?

No answer. Acosta pulls back the curtain to find Wells sitting

on the shower floor, seemingly out cold.

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