Mobsters Page #7

BOBBY CLOWES:

I remember reading a poem in college.

"Sicily. Poor, noble isle...".

LUCIANO:

Poor, yeah.

BOBBY CLOWES:

But not you.

Charlie leans back and knocks on the wood paneled wall.

VOICE:

Am I such bad luck?

Charlie looks up at Don Maranzano who hovers over the table.

He extends his hand, but doesn't stand.

LUCIANO:

Don Maranzano. Welcome.

MARANZANO:

I've heard so much about this club

of yours. I had to come and see.

LUCIANO:

Good liquor draws a good crowd.

MARANZANO:

I must know more of you, my son.

LUCIANO:

Not a lot ta know.

Maranzano voice takes on a faint edge of menace.

MARANZANO:

Then perhaps you need to know me.

LUCIANO:

Don, I'd be honored.

Don Maranzano bows slightly from the waist, turns, and

disappears into the crowd. Charlie's expression darkens.

BOBBY:

Who was that?

LUCIANO:

My f***in' meat packin' plant.

CUT TO:

EXT:
MANHASSET ESTATE - DAY

An expanse of lawn sweeps toward a colossal mansion sprawled

across the crest of a hill. A small wooden ball bounces into

view, accompanied by the off-screen THUNDER of horses hooves.

HALF A DOZEN POLO PLAYERS ON HORSEBACK

descend on the ball, mallets held high. One player

outmaneuvers the rest and sends the ball shooting across the

lawn. The pack sets off in pursuit.

AN UNBROKEN LINE OF EXPENSIVE AUTOMOBILES

extends along one side of the grounds. Bobby and Charlie

follow the match from the front seat of a Packard convertible.

In the back, Bugsy and Frank make no attempt to hide their

boredom.

SIEGEL:

Know somethin'? This stuff's just

kick-the-can on ponies.

LUCIANO:

Shuddup.

SIEGEL:

Wanna know what I think?

LUCIANO:

Spare us.

SIEGEL:

I think these rich shits -- no offense

Bobby -- are so dead below the waist

that they gotta ride around all day

swingin' at each other ta get their

broads hot.

Charlie glares at Bugsy, but Bobby laughs.

BOBBY CLOWES:

You got a point there, Bugsy.

Frank exchanges looks with a COOL BLONDE in the next car.

FRANK:

Hey. Whatever the hell works.

CUT TO:

EXT:
CENTRAL PARK RESERVOIR - DAY

A rowboat floats across the frame, Meyer at the oars. Anna

faces him, posed in a white dress under a pink parasol.

ANOTHER BOAT FLOATS INTO FRAME

following the first. Anna's sweating Father rows, his wife

faces him, holding a newspaper over her head.

CUT TO:

INT:
MANSION BALLROOM - NIGHT

A Negro jazz band pumps out an African rhythm to incite the

Anglo-Saxon libido. Bobby stands before the band,

"conducting". On the floor, Frank hangs on to his Cool Blonde.

IN THE ENTRY HALL

A PORCELAIN-SKINNED BEAUTY shrieks in delighted terror as

she races up a massive marble staircase. Halfway up she stops.

At the bottom of the stairs, Bugsy stands with his arms across

his chest, feigning indifference. The Beauty's panties bounce

off his face. Bugsy charges up the stairs.

ON THE TERRACE:

Charlie leans against a pillar looking out across the lawn

toward the Long Island Sound. Behind him, white curtains

billow out through the French doors to the Ballroom, as though

blown by the force of the music. Charlie lights a cigarette.

WOMAN'S VOICE

You come to parties to be alone?

Charlie looks around, but sees only the billowing curtains.

A breeze lifts them higher, and a woman in a long white dress

materializes beneath. Somewhat older than the other women at

the party, and far more elegant. She speaks in a cultivated

accent of indeterminate European origin.

GAY ORLOVA:

Why are Americans always so desperate

to have a good time?

UPSTAIRS:

Bugsy moves down a long empty corridor, trying each door.

One opens to reveal a shadowed, half-clothed sexual coupling

in progress. Bugsy carefully pulls the door closed. Turning

around, he sees his Beauty hiding in an alcove. Laughing,

she races back down the hallway. Bugsy pursues.

ON THE TERRACE:

Charlie and Gay Orlova sit a discreet but friendly distance

from each other on the stone railing encircling the terrace.

GAY ORLOVA:

Inside, they were talking of you.

LUCIANO:

I can just imagine.

GAY ORLOVA:

No. They envy you.

LUCIANO:

For being a bootlegger?

GAY ORLOVA:

For being a man.

Charlie, nonplussed, doesn't respond. Across the terrace,

the Beauty runs out of the front door and down the curving

driveway, followed closely by Bugsy.

TWO NEGRO CHAUFFEURS

Idle away their time under a tree next to the line of cars

parked around the drive. Behind them, the rear door to a

limousine stands open. Bugsy's feet, trousers around his

ankles, can be seen braced on the ground below the door.

SHOOTING THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD OF THE LIMOUSINE

Bugsy's pants meld with the moans of the Beauty, behind the

screen of the front seat.

AS CHARLIE WATCHES

Gay disappears through the billowing curtains into the house.

IN THE BALLROOM:

Charlie looks around for Gay, but can't spot her.

CUT TO:

INT:
RISTORANTE CASTELLAMARE - DAY

Conversation dies as Charlie moves through the restaurant,

looking considerably more poised and commanding then last we

saw him here with Capone. All eyes follow him as he moves

toward the private dining room in back.

AS CHARLIE ENTERS THE BACK ROOM

Don Maranzano rises to greet him, hands held up beside his

face, like the Pope bestowing a blessing. He embraces Charlie,

whose face betrays his deep annoyance with this phony

intimacy.

MARANZANO:

(IN ITALIAN)

Salvatore. My young Caesar. First

me, Sallie. Then you.

LUCIANO:

The name's Charlie.

Maranzano laughs, steps back and holds Charlie at arm's

length.

MARANZANO:

Words of praise are meant only for

the great, and you, my son, will do

great things.

Charlie's ready to spit in the old man's face, but missing

the hostility, Maranzano holds his right hand up to Charlie's

face. A signet ring with the initials "S.M.", gleams on his

finger.

MARANZANO:

My bambino, please.

Choking back his pride, Charlie kisses the ring. The Don

glows.

AT THE TABLE:

Charlie eats with the elaborate care of the newly arrived.

MARANZANO:

Mussolini is raping Sicily like every

Roman before him. So our brothers

are coming to America. Soldiers

willing to fight and die. Men who

know the meaning of honor.

LUCIANO:

Don, you talk about honor, but you

mean vendetta. Killin' an' more

killin' until nobody can remember

how it all started.

Maranzano leans back in his chair, appraising Charlie.

MARANZANO:

And how many soldiers do you have?

LUCIANO:

I've got friends.

MARANZANO:

I have six hundred. Soldiers. And

more every week off the boat.

LUCIANO:

An' Masseria's got seven hundred.

Maranzano hisses at the mention of Masseria's name.

MARANZANO:

He's an animal!

LUCIANO:

(IN ITALIAN)

He's the Boss of all the Bosses, and

I respect him.

Maranzano slaps his palm on the table.

MARANZANO:

You are of the Sicilian blood. You

waste your time with these Jews!

Charlie lets that comment hang in the air for a moment, then

pushes his chair away from the table.

LUCIANO:

Thanks for lunch.

Calming down, Maranzano waves away the disagreement. Pours

Charlie a glass of wine.

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