Phone Booth

FADE IN:

NEW YORK CITY - AERIAL VIEW OF DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN - DAY

MULTIPLE STREET SCENES - DAY

The sidewalks crowded as usual. A sea of humanity. People

come and go -- always in a hurry. Oblivious of one another.

A TRAFFIC JAM -- A STREET being torn up by construction

workers; A SANITATION TRUCK loading up refuse; VENDORS

PEDDLING nuts and salted pretzels; PANHANDLERS blocking a

passerby. Intimidating. Demanding. Almost mocking.

We're surrounded by the teeming life of the city as we've

come to expect it -- complete with a cacophony of sound.

MULTIPLE CUTS -- Phone kiosks and phone booths on the East

Side and West Side -- uptown and down.

One frustrated caller has lost his money in the slot and he

takes it out on the equipment -- smashing the receiver

violently against the coin box until the instrument splinters

into a dozen pieces.

NARRATOR:

There are 237,911 pay telephones in

the five burroughs of the city of

New York. Many of them are still

in working order.

DOZENS OF QUICK CUTS --

NEW YORKERS on the phone in extreme close up. We don't hear

the words. Only the facial expressions inform us that these

are human beings under tremendous pressure. Life in the city

is wearing them down.

MULTIPLE SHOTS - JUST MOUTHS

Lips jabbering into receivers. Cross-cut against one

another.

NARRATOR:

Despite increased usage of cellular

devices, an estimated four and a

half million New Yorkers and two

million visitors still utilize pay

telephones on a regular basis. At

thirty-five cents a pop... for the

first three minutes.

ANGLE ON CORNER IN MID-MANHATTAN - DAY

There's a phone booth situated on the southeast side of the

street.

NARRATOR:

You're looking at the telephone

booth at the corner of 45th Street

and 8th Avenue in the heart of the

Manhattan theatrical district. It

has been scheduled to be removed

and replaced by a kiosk. It's one

of the few remaining phone booths

left in the city.

CAMERA MOVES IN on the irate caller in the booth -- a very

well-dressed gray-haired lady -- totally conservative in

appearance.

WOMAN IN BOOTH:

(into receiver)

You have lied to me for the last

time, you lowlife prick bastard! I

don't ever want to hear the sound

of your f***ing voice again.

(listens)

Yes, well f*** you, too!

She slams down the receiver and exits. The booth remains

vacant for a brief interval.

NARRATOR:

At least three hundred calls daily

originate from this booth. The

coins are collected twice a day.

This booth has been burglarized

forty-one times in the last six

months.

Someone is approaching the booth, fishing in his pocket for

coins. This is STUART SHEPARD, snappily dressed, his hair

styled and his nails manicured. Here is a man who clearly

takes excellent care of himself. He sports a Donna Karen

suit and silk Armani tie.

He's about to step into the booth when he's accosted by a

middle-aged man in a soiled apron who's run out of a nearby

restaurant and has finally caught up with him.

MARIO:

Stu, we got to talk.

STU:

Wish I could accommodate you,

Mario, but this is my busy time of

day.

MARIO:

How come you cross the street every

time you go past the restaurant?

STU:

Why don't I stop in later for some

lunch?

MARIO:

There's no more drinks or free

meals until the restaurant starts

showing up in the columns like you

said.

STU:

I'm doing my level best for you

people.

MARIO:

One lousy mention in the Post and

you expect to eat for six months!

STU:

I got the food critic from the

Village Voice all lined up to give

you a review.

MARIO:

That's what you tell me last July.

And he never shows.

STU:

I was allowing you time to expand

the menu. Wallpaper the bathrooms,

for God sakes. You get only one

shot with these f***ing critics and

I don't want you to blow a rare

opportunity.

MARIO:

You the one blowing it. How long

you think you can f*** everybody?

STU:

Hold on right there. I've got a

very excellent reputation around

this town.

MARIO:

So how come you take two nice suits

of clothes from Harry and never get

his daughter on David Letterman?

STU:

Hell, I'm not an agent. I'm a

publicist.

MARIO:

Mister, you're nothing!

STU:

Believe me, Valerie's on the

waiting list to audition. Harry's

got no complaints. He just let me

pick out this tie the other day.

MARIO:

That Harry's a damn fool!

STU:

Mario, please let me make this up

to you. How about I arrange for

the opening night party for this

new off-Broadway show I'm handling

-- to be held at your place with

local TV coverage on nine and

eleven? I mean I had it promised

to another client -- who actually

pays me money. But it isn't firmed

up yet. And I could throw it your

way. Maybe.

MARIO:

What is involved?

STU:

You'd toss in the buffet for say

seventy or eighty. The producers

would supply their own vino, of

course. I'd deliver you a

truckload of celebrities. And if

they like the food, they'll all

come back, naturally.

MARIO:

What celebrities?

STU:

You want Liza Minelli? An Oscar

winner. Or Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.?

MARIO:

Is he still alive?

STU:

I saw him last night going into the

Four Seasons. I'll bring you over

a whole VIP list when we come by

for dinner.

MARIO:

How come everybody wants to eat but

nobody wants to pay?

STU:

You can't think small like that.

Hey, you still feature musicians

Fridays and Saturdays?

MARIO:

At least they work for their meals.

STU:

What about Harry's daughter as an

extra added attraction? She'll

belt out five or six showtunes --

two sets a night -- and it won't

cost you a f***ing nickel.

MARIO:

How come?

STU:

Star Showcase! Let me handle

setting that up. And when she

eventually goes on Letterman,

she'll announce I'm currently

appearing over at Mario's fine

supper club. Right over CBS she'll

say that, Mario.

MARIO:

You're full of sh*t. You know

that? All bullshit!

STU:

That's just a vulgar word for PR.

(placing an arm around

him)

Mario, you can't hurt my feelings.

Even when I was a kid and they

hurled certain invectives my way,

it never bothered me. Other kids

would fall apart if anybody called

them a f***ing name. Me, I just

loved the attention! 'Sh*t-for-

brains' -- that's what the bigger

kids named me. And I answered to

it. Hey, 'sh*t-for brains'

reporting for duty. Everybody

loved me for that. I could take

abuse. After a while, I kind of

wore them down. There was nothing

more they could say to me. So they

stopped. I kind of missed it.

MARIO:

I'm sorry I even talked to you.

STU:

I'll bet your loving wife put you

up to this. She saw me pass by and

she sent you out in the street.

But I don't hold it against you

personally -- you still serve up

superior veal chop.

(entering phone booth)

Now I got urgent business to

conduct, Mario.

He slides the booth closed in Mario's face.

The frustrated restaurateur glares at him through the glass

before giving up and walking off -- talking to himself as he

goes up the block.

INSIDE THE BOOTH, Stu inserts his thirty-five cents and

dials.

STU:

Hello, Mavis, sweet creature.

MAVIS' VOICE

Where have you been? Do you think

I have nothing to do but wait

around for you to call?

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