Klondike Page #16

JACK:

Even odds. You’re inscrutable.

Unguessable. Not to mention

important. You’re the most

important man in town right now.

Next to me. At least while the

betting pool is on.

BILL:

I’m not anything.

Whirls on him. A charged emotion in his eyes.

BILL (CONT’D)

I’m just another man burning

daylight and wasting gravity.

Speaks to the mood he’s in. He charges forward into “The

Dawson Grande Hotel...”

... leaving Jack in the middle of the street with his wilted

parasol. Jack pulls out a notebook, hunches over it so it

doesn’t get wet.

JACK:

(muttering)

“Burning daylight.”

Scribbles the words down.

EXT. BELINDA’S PRIVATE CHAMBERS

Several large men of the bearded variety guard the door. Bill

stands there, dripping wet. Pissed at having to be kept

waiting.

One of the bearded men gestures for Bill to come in and Bill

pushes past him, accidentally on purpose jostling him.

INT. BELINDA’S PRIVATE CHAMBERS

Bill enters and pauses. The room is grandly feminine, with

hand-carved curlicues in the wainscotting and mother-of-pearl

chandeliers. A FANTASY of heaven in the third circle of hell.

18.

Bill stands in the center of this femininity--a rain-soaked

man in muddy boots.

Belinda emerges from another chamber.

BELINDA:

Sorry to keep you waiting. I was

making myself fragrant.

She is spectacular. Her dress looks like it was made out of

gold hammered so thin it could shimmer in a breeze.

She looks like the Goddess of Gold.

Bill came here pissed as hell. He has to fight to hold onto

his drive.

BILL:

I like to know when I’m getting a

new friend. I’m too old to have

someone dropped off at my house to

play with.

BELINDA:

So you met Meekor.

She drapes herself on the couch near him.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

Don’t be petulant. I own half of

your claim. I need to protect my

investment.

(beat)

Meekor was an inevitability. Why

warn someone about an

inevitability?

BILL:

Is that what you are? An

inevitability? Who lives, who dies.

You decide with a fetching wave of

your hand.

BELINDA:

Are you accusing me of something?

A slight break in her voice. He stares at her. Her green-blue

eyes show just a hint of hurt.

Still staring at her, he shakes his head.

BILL:

No.

Belinda folds her feelings back into herself.

19.

BELINDA:

Gold is a fool’s errand, honey. I

wouldn’t kill for it.

Her manner is casual, but not her eyes.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

I’m building Xanadu.

(off his look)

I thought you were an educated man.

(quotes)

“In Xanadu, did Kubla Khan, a

stately pleasure dome decree.” Gold

has brought people to this

uncivilized wilderness but it’s

civilization gonna make ‘em stay.

(off Bill’s look)

And, no, I’m not building an ice

palace in Dawson. I’m building a

hotel. The largest, grandest hotel

in America. Baccarat crystal,

velvet couches. It’s all been

ordered. While you dream of gold, I

use gold to make dreams.

She heads to her marble-topped desk. Opens the lid of a blue

cloisonne jewel box. Inside are stacks of (gold backed)

hundred dollar bills. Holds up a wad of bills.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

Know why these are better than

gold?

No Bill doesn’t know.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

(smiles)

Easier to count.

She leans against her desk, staring at Bill.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

You should take Sope’s offer. Sell

your mud hole and head back to

Maine.

BILL:

Vermont.

BELINDA:

It doesn’t matter. Both are away

from here.

She stares emotionally at him.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

You don’t belong here.

20.

BILL:

I don’t think so.

Belinda simmers... fetchingly.

BELINDA:

What’s your game? Justice?

Vengeance?

(quietly strong)

Men always have a mission. Make up

for the fact they can’t give birth.

Women are born with a mission. Men

gotta make them up. Do you write to

your mother?

She puts herself between him and the doorway, knowing he

won’t just push her away.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

World is divided between men who

write their mothers and men who

don’t.

BILL:

Do you write to yours?

BELINDA:

I killed my ma.

(beat)

She died as I exited her womb. Left

me to the vagaries of the world.

Bill gently lifts her up and places her out of his way. He

heads toward the door. Stops... amused by something.

BILL:

Your mother birthed you... and

you’re birthing a hotel. I think

your mother has the edge.

BELINDA:

It’s not a competition.

(hits her)

Was that a compliment?

BILL:

You’ll know when I’m making a

compliment.

BELINDA:

(beat)

You really don’t know, do you?

Bill pauses in the doorway.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

If you’re staying or going.

21.

Bill holds her gaze for a moment. His gaze is unwavering...

but it does not give answers. He walks off.

She stares after him. Her blue-green eyes shine with tears.

BELINDA (CONT’D)

I wish it had been a compliment.

CUT TO:

ON BILL:

charging forward, head bent, as the rain lashes down with

renewed brutality on the now-mud-sloshed streets of Dawson.

OUR VIEW whips away from him to...

A COCK-EYED SIGN

nailed against a dilapidated structure. Faded words read

(without irony) “DRY GOODS”. ROUGH HANDS pull off the sign.

The hands belong to Father Judge.

The Dry Goods store is officially no longer a dry goods

Store.

INT. FORMER DRY GOODS STORE - SAME TIME

Father judge tosses the sign onto a large heap of rotten wallboards.

He’s been single-handedly turning the store into a

church.

It’s a bit of a disaster now. All that’s left of the store is

the counter. The shelves have all been splintered and tossed

into a heap.

There are maybe a hundred leaks in the ceiling. It’s all but

raining in here.

A KNOCKING on the door. Father Judge turns, surprised. Who

would be calling in this storm?

THE DOOR:

is opened to reveal A TALL MAN with a patchy black beard,

wearing a black, seal-skin rain coat and strange looking rain-

hat.

He is “THE COUNT”.

COUNT:

(slight German accent)

I am Charles Eugene Schultz. But my

friends... and enemies... call me

The Count.

FATHER JUDGE:

What can I do for you?

22.

Histrionically, the count removes his hat. A gesture of-jokey

deference.

COUNT:

(humble voice)

Forgive me but I have sinned.

(beat)

I would like to make a confession.

CUT TO:

INT. FATHER JUDGE’S “CHURCH” - MOMENTS LATER

Father Judge sits across from The Count as rain pours down

around them from the leaky roof.

FATHER JUDGE:

What do you have to confess?

The Count’s face is all penitence and sorrow.

COUNT:

Arson and murder.

FATHER JUDGE:

(reacts)

When did you commit these acts?

COUNT:

I haven’t committed them yet.

He smiles a humorless smile. Stares at father judge until he

understands the implicit threat.

FATHER JUDGE:

Do you care to be more forthright,

sir?

Father Judge’s eyes burn. We haven’t seen him angry yet. But

he does get angry.

The Count stares around him.

COUNT:

This watering can will be your new

church, huh?

FATHER JUDGE:

If God’s willing.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote