Reagan Page #10

his makeup. Others move lights.

Frank runs the set confidently. He’s finally in control.

Poindexter approaches Reagan with a sheet labeled

‘CLASSIFIED.’ The President signs his ‘autograph’.

Frank carefully adjusts a TABLE-TOP MANGER SCENE: a goat was

blocking Jesus. Everything must be perfect.

Dick visits the set. Squeezes Frank’s shoulder. His assistant

Karl reluctantly shakes Frank’s hand. Quite a turnaround.

Don watches from a longer distance than before. Ominously.

Frank holds everyone in position: Lights, Camera, Action.

INT. CORDEN RESIDENCE - LIVING ROOM - DECEMBER 24, 1985

CHRISTMAS CARDS are displayed on the mantle. Among them, a

photo:
Frank and Reagan sitting on a sofa in the Oval Office.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - OFFICE - JANUARY 19, 1986

Frank takes notes as the Poindexter, Caspar and Don discuss.

DON:

The President will speak at

Arlington on the eighth.

POINDEXTER:

Let’s get the first lady there too.

It’s a strong photo op.

CASPAR:

Not worth the trouble.

POINDEXTER:

It’s worth the trouble to get that

photo in the paper. A family united

in prayer:
you can’t buy that.

58.

DON:

I agree with John. The President’s

numbers could use a boost.

CASPAR:

Do you want to talk to Her? ‘Cause

I’m not f***in’ talking to Her.

POINDEXTER:

Why are we talking to Her at all?

DON:

You know why. Nothing happens

without her go-ahead.

POINDEXTER:

Well, I’m not talking to Her either.

DON:

Gentlemen, we know someone has to.

FRANK:

I’ll do it.

The room zeroes in on Frank, almost forgetting he was there.

CASPAR:

Look at that. You made it two weeks

without breaking the no-f***ing

talking rule. I owe Don a Sprite.

DON:

You’d really talk to Her for us?

FRANK:

Sure. I’m glad to help. That’s what

I’m here for!

Don proudly nods.

DON:

Okay. I’ll give her a call.

FRANK:

I’m looking forward to meeting her.

I didn’t know the First Lady was so

hard to pin down.

DON:

You’re not talking to the first

lady. You’re talking to Joan.

FRANK:

Joan? Who’s Joan?

59.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - OFFICE - THE NEXT DAY

‘Joan’ is JOAN QUIGLEY (48, crazy eyes and gigantic turquoise

earrings), Nancy Reagan’s personal astrologist (REALLY). She

squints at a baffled Frank.

JOAN QUIGLEY:

(beat)

You were born at night.

FRANK:

I don’t know.

JOAN QUIGLEY:

You were. Either at night or on a

really cloudy day.

FRANK:

You’re Nancy Reagan’s psychic?

JOAN QUIGLEY:

Psychics are frauds, Mr. Corden. I

simply scan the astrological plane

to foresee the near and distant

future. I’ve been with the first

lady since the assassination

attempt on her husband.

FRANK:

Which...you saw coming?

JOAN QUIGLEY:

Mile away. She doesn’t do anything

until I say it’s safe. I’m not

miserly with my gift; it could save

your life, too.

FRANK:

Meaning you could scan my

astronomical plane-

JOAN QUIGLEY:

Astro-LOGICAL...as in ‘practical’.

He stares at her. She’s f***ing serious. Frank pauses...

FRANK:

So you know what The Enterprise is.

JOAN QUIGLEY:

Yeah. Mhmm.

60.

FRANK:

It’s a top secret government

project. No one knows about it.

What do the stars say?

Joan looks to the heavens. Frank looks up, too.

FRANK (CONT’D)

(sarcastic)

Oh shoot, is the ceiling in the way?

JOAN QUIGLEY:

It is not.

(beat)

The Enterprise...involves the

Middle East...Or Central America.

It’s fuzzy. Maybe the ceiling is a

problem. Look at the Little Dipper

tonight; you’ll find your answer.

FRANK:

Okay, Ms. Quigley. All we want is

the first lady next to her husband

at Arlington National Cemetery.

Will you tell her it’s okay?

JOAN QUIGLEY:

Oh sure, no problem.

FRANK:

Thank you.

Frank stands to leave.

JOAN QUIGLEY:

You’re going to live a long life.

Then you’re going to die in a fire.

Frank doesn’t need to believe for that to stop him a beat.

JOAN QUIGLEY (CONT’D)

Or maybe in just a very warm room.

Okay. He’s out.

INT. PEGGY’S OFFICE - APRIL 14, 1986

Frank and Peggy each have a copy of a CROSSWORD PUZZLE. They

mull silently in quiet competition, until Peggy scores.

PEGGY:

Sixteen Down.

61.

FRANK:

Are you kidding me? Five letter

word meaning ‘golden touch’. Can’t

be ‘MIDAS’. It starts with an F.

PEGGY:

(with a grin)

It’s not ‘MIDAS.’

They’re having fun. Interrupted by an intern, LUCAS (20s).

LUCAS:

Can you help me? The president is

looking for a ‘Mr. Capra’?

Frank’s grip tightens on his pencil. Peggy cannot find out.

PEGGY:

Don’t know him. Do you?

FRANK:

Nope. No clue.

Lucas leaves. Peggy goes back to the puzzle. Frank doesn’t.

PEGGY:

Gert ‘Frobe.’ He played Goldfinger.

FRANK:

Oh yeah. Um...Sorry, I forgot I had

to...pee.

PEGGY:

You don’t need a hall pass.

He laughs way too hard at her joke. Hurries out the door.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Lucas is just about to give up when Frank catches him.

FRANK:

Hey. Who-who were you looking for?

LUCAS:

The President asked for ‘Mr. Capra’.

FRANK:

Oh, I thought you said

‘Kram...dart’. He means me.

LUCAS:

Your name is ‘Capra’?

62.

FRANK:

Sometimes.

He checks Peggy’s door before heading for the Oval Office.

INT. OVAL OFFICE - MINUTES LATER

Clearly agitated, Reagan looks in the mirror as Frank enters.

REAGAN:

There you are! See this?

He holds the end of his tie out.

FRANK:

It’s your tie.

REAGAN:

It’s a smudge. Underneath the knot.

FRANK:

Okay, that’s way less of a problem

than I thought it was going to be.

I can barely notice it.

REAGAN:

Look, I’m not one of those prima

donnas. I’ll leave the fussing to

your Spencer Tracys and your Martin

Balsams. But I’m still a leading man.

FRANK:

That’s literally true.

REAGAN:

I need the names of the wardrobe

department.

FRANK:

The...what?

REAGAN:

Someone’s head has to roll for

this. I appreciate the costume

folks have families, but I have an

image to uphold. Their names!

FRANK:

(way too fast)

Bobby Sally Willy Libby and Ted.

REAGAN:

Let me talk to them.

63.

Frank holds for a moment, then gets ‘angry’ himself.

FRANK:

You know what? Libby’s been slacking

off this whole production. This is it.

The second I see her, she’s fired!

REAGAN:

How about I do it. I don’t mind.

FRANK:

No, I’ll talk to her. Libby’s done.

He slips out of the door. Reagan looks at the tie again. Then

picks up the RED PHONE on his desk.

INT. THE PENTAGON - INTERCUT AS NEEDED

The center of the American military. A multiply-decorated

GENERAL SIDWELL (50s, crew cut and stogie) answers.

GENERAL SIDWELL:

Mr. President.

REAGAN:

(laughing)

Right, Mr. President. My mother

told me:
you never have someone

else take your trash out for you. I

want Libby gone.

GENERAL SIDWELL:

Libya, sir?

REAGAN:

Fired. Gone. No more Libby.

GENERAL SIDWELL:

Yes sir.

He hangs up. Turns to another OFFICER.

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