One Chance Page #2

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CHOIRMASTER:

That’s very nice indeed.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. CAR PHONE WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

Walls lined with various phones and phone accessories.

BRADDON (34), painfully thin with spiky hair, bad skin and

elvish ear-extensions, hits on a FEMALE CUSTOMER.

BRADDON:

Now this one comes with customizable

ringtones and dual vibrating mode, which

can come in quite handy in certain

situations.

The bell jingles as Paul walks in quietly.

FEMALE CUSTOMER:

And what situations would that be?

BRADDON:

(leaning closer)

What’ve you got in mind?

FEMALE CUSTOMER:

I’d like a word with your manager.

He shows her his employee badge, that reads “MANAGER” just

below his name, “BRADDON MELLINS”.

BRADDON:

What seems to be the problem, Miss?

FEMALE CUSTOMER:

They should lock you up.

BRADDON:

Bondage? Naughty, cheeky, but presto, you

talked me into it.

7.

She storms out...

BRADDON (CONT’D)

Come see us again soon.

...passing Paul who offers a tentative, closed-mouth smile

to Braddon.

PAUL:

Better luck next time.

BRADDON:

It’s quantum algebra, mate; if I offer my

personal services to twenty women, one

point three of them are certain to shag

me blind.

PAUL:

How many have said yes so far?

BRADDON:

(calculating)

S’about... I’m still tinkering with the

approach, but erection is the mother of

invention, yes? Right, what can we do ya

for? Something compact, ‘round five-

hundred minutes a month with unlimited

text and a free shaving kit?

PAUL:

Actually, I was wondering if the

position’s still open.

BRADDON:

The position?

PAUL:

The job.

BRADDON:

You want to work here, what in god’s name

for?

PAUL:

Because I love mobile phones?

BRADDON:

Lying will get you everywhere.

Hands him an application, then snatches it back...

BRADDON (CONT’D)

Have you got a girlfriend?

8.

PAUL:

Yes? Well, sort of-- Not really.

Braddon snatches the application back again...

BRADDON:

Boyfriend then?

PAUL:

Oh no, she’s definitely a girl, I’m sure

of it.

BRADDON:

Okay, as long as you’re sure.

Paul takes the application and gets to work.

EXT. PORT TALBOT STREET - NIGHT

Paul walks home from the interview, passes a pub, The

Forge Tavern, from which numerous UNION MEN have spilled

out onto the sidewalk.

Paul lowers his head and gives the men a wide berth, until

one DRUNK man stumbles into him and “accidentally” drops

his beer.

FIRST DRUNK:

Watch where you’re going, Martha.

PAUL:

Sorry.

He tries not to break stride, but the man grabs his arm

threateningly...

FIRST DRUNK:

Sorry ain’t gonna pay for a new pint, is

it?

Suddenly, the drunk is jerked backwards and ends up on his

ass.

ROLAND:

(standing over him)

I’ll thank you to leave him alone now,

Peter.

FIRST DRUNK:

‘Not my fault he can’t walk straight.

SECOND DRUNK:

Probably ‘cause his teeth are all

crooked.

9.

THIRD DRUNK:

Or it’s that enormous ass of his.

ROLAND:

One more word.

SECOND DRUNK:

And what?

ROLAND:

And your next shift will be in the queue

at the unemployment office.

Finally, they all back down to his seniority. Roland helps

the First Drunk to his feet-

ROLAND (CONT’D)

Now come on Bill and apologize to-

But Paul is gone.

EXT. QUIET STREET - NIGHT

Paul walks down the center of the road. Roland jogs after

him.

ROLAND:

All right?

PAUL:

I’m fine, dad.

ROLAND:

Pete’s a good lad, he’s just in his cups

is all.

Paul doesn’t respond. They walk for a moment.

ROLAND (CONT’D)

Maybe if you joined a fitness club.

Lifted some weights.

PAUL:

Yeah?

ROLAND:

I’m just saying... Maybe losin’ a few

stone you wouldn’t provoke them as much.

Paul looks away; not the first time he’s heard this brand

of logic from his father.

PAUL:

I got a job.

10.

ROLAND:

What, that bloody musical down the

community centre?

PAUL:

Mobile phone shop in Bridgend.

ROLAND:

Oh... Well done... So, you’ll be getting

your own place then?

PAUL:

Actually, um, I’ve been saving up for

opera lessons...in Italy.

ROLAND:

You’re twenty-nine years old, Paul.

Singing lessons can wait.

They turn up the path to their home. Paul hesitates a

moment letting Roland go up the steps ahead of him.

Furious, he opens his mouth to speak, but loses his

nerve...

Music is heard - Pavarotti singing “Che Gelida Manina”

from La Boeme.

CUT TO:

AN LP COVER; PAVAROTTI IN FULL CLOWN (CANIO FROM

PAGLIACCI)

INT. PAUL’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

TRACK ACROSS walls plastered with posters and downloaded

print-outs of images from the opera world: The Three

Tenors; Caruso; a program from La Traviata in Rome; and

finally a virtual shrine to Pavarotti, his great hero...

ENDING ON:

A PAIR OF KNITTING NEEDLES

Pointed skyward, quivering slightly in anticipation...

Then slicing and waving through the air as Paul angrily

“conducts” the music as the refrain kicks in.

Gradually, Paul is enveloped and the thrashing needles

slow and subside and finally slip to the ground as,

panting, he stops the record, revealing a muffled BANGING

coming from downstairs.

11.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

As Paul makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen

where Roland is already at the table.

ROLAND:

Always with the bloody violins. Won’t

shed a tear when they’ve packed and gone.

YVONNE:

(serving dinner)

What do you mean gone? Paul, are you

going somewhere.

PAUL:

Venice.

ROLAND:

Oh no, this singing rubbish has gone on

long enough. He’s got a job, he can get

his own flat.

YVONNE:

Pish-posh.

(to Paul)

Stay forever darling. Here you are.

As she places an enormous plate in front of Paul.

ROLAND:

Christ, Yvonne, He can hardly fit through

the door as it is.

PAUL:

(to Roland)

Look, I get it. I’m never going to be a

professional singer. I just... It’s the

only thing that makes me-- Let me go to

Venice and I’ll move out when I get back.

Yvonne looks at Roland, eyes pleading Paul’s case.

CUT TO:

INT. STIARWELL - DAY

As Paul, gasping and sweating and carrying two moving

boxes, climbs several flights up the increasingly narrow

staircase until he reaches the top floor and the door to-

12.

INT. A TINY STUDIO APARTMENT - DAY

Where he drops the boxes alongside several others. The

room is partially unpacked with his pictures of Pavarotti

and Toscanini already hung with prominence, and his

computer has been set up atop a “desk” made from several

other boxes.

A CHIMING/BOUNCING MESSAGE is seen on the screen... Paul

clicks on the message revealing a kitty-kat avatar, which

expands into a Chat Invitation from “julzRulz”.

JULZ:

(typed)

How did it go?

Paul TYPES his response...

PAUL:

How did what go?

JULZ:

Job? Italy? Job? Italy?

PAUL:

Job, yes. Smallest apartment in Britain,

yes. Italy, no. How are you?

JULZ:

I’m so sorry, Paul. I guess you’ll have

to settle for visiting me in Bristol.

Hint. Hint. ;) :
)

A beat as Paul flushes... He types...

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