St. Vincent Page #3

VINCENT:

That car’s an antique, missy.

Worth a lot of money.

She looks at the car. More like a piece of sh*t.

MAGGIE:

I’ll figure out how to-

VINCENT:

You. You don’t have any money. No

offense. You don’t look like you

do. And I’ll bet Chico and the Man

over there are “off the books.”

No, thank you, blondie, I’ll sue

the moving company.

Vin walks off.

VINCENT (CONT’D)

You can buck up for the tree and

the fence.

He hits the front door. Oliver looks up at his mom.

OLIVER:

That’s our new neighbor.

MAGGIE:

Yep.

OLIVER:

It’s gonna be a long life.

INT. MAGGIE & OLIVER’S HOUSE - NIGHT

Oliver’s bedroom. The room has a bed in it, little else.

The evening ritual is in progress: bedtime book time.

Although...Oliver is the one reading: “The Giving Tree.”

Maggie’s on a beanbag on the floor, nursing a Chardonnay.

OLIVER:

(reading)

“I wish that I could give you

something, but I have nothing

left.” I am just an old stump. “I

don't need very much now," said the

boy.

(MORE)

14.

OLIVER (CONT'D)

"Just a quiet place to sit and

rest. I am very tired." "Well,"

said the tree, straightening

herself up as much as she could,

"Well, an old stump is good for

sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit

down. Sit down and rest." And the

boy did. And the tree was happy.

Maggie drinks her wine.

MAGGIE:

God, that’s depressing.

She gets up.

OLIVER:

No, it’s not. The old tree was

made to give. So to be able to

give everything and have nothing

left is the best life the tree

could ever have.

She tucks Oliver into bed. Kisses his forehead.

MAGGIE:

That’s one way to look at it. Need

you to catch the bus tomorrow.

OLIVER:

It’s my first day.

MAGGIE:

Mine too. Can’t be late.

Maggie goes to turn off the light.

OLIVER:

Where’s the bus line?

MAGGIE:

Get on the internet in the morning.

You’re good at that. Good night,

love.

OLIVER:

Night.

She turns the light off. Oliver settles into the

darkness.

EXT. CITY STREET - THE NEXT MORNING

Bus stop. Maggie’s old Volvo sits in the bus lane.

Oliver’s outside the door, leaning in the window. He’s

dressed in a Catholic School uniform. Maggie hands him a

lunch box.

15.

MAGGIE:

Peanut butter and bananas.

OLIVER:

Thanks, mom.

MAGGIE:

Snack money in the pocket. You

have your key?

OLIVER:

Yes.

MAGGIE:

Map?

OLIVER:

Yes.

MAGGIE:

What time you get out?

OLIVER:

2:
45.

MAGGIE:

Straight home, ‘kay. Start your

homework.

OLIVER:

Okay.

A bus pulls up behind Maggie.

MAGGIE:

(re:
the bus)

This is yours. See you tonight.

OLIVER:

Wait. Ma...you’re not picking me-

MAGGIE:

I’m in the bus lane, Oliver. Be

good. Okay. I don’t need another

ticket.

Maggie blows him a kiss, pulls off.

Oliver backs away from the curb, as the bus pulls in.

INT. BUS - LATER

Riding the bus. Oliver’s sandwiched between an OLD

JEWISH LADY and a PIERCED HIPSTER. He’s looking at a

Mapquest print out.

INSERT - THE MAP: AN “X” MARKS THE SCHOOL’S LOCATION -

ST. FRANCIS de SALES.

16.

EXT. ST. FRANCIS DE SALES - LATER

PACKS OF STUDENTS mosey towards the campus. A classic

brick and stone Catholic School.

INT. ST. FRANCIS DE SALES - HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER

St. Francis de Sales Catholic School is just like any

other middle school. Diverse. Modern. Noisy. Dozens

of KIDS crowd the hallways, dig through lockers,

socialize with FRIENDS.

Oliver can’t open his locker. He tries the combination

again...no dice. He looks around for help. No one makes

eye contact.

The tardy bell chimes.

Oliver gives up, drags all his stuff with him. Rushes

down the hallway.

INT. BROTHER CRESPI’S CLASSROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Religious Studies class. Brother Crespi stands in front

of THIRTY CHATTY PRETEENS. Crespi’s in his thirties,

preppy and full of new teacher idealism. Oliver stands

at his side, he could pass out.

BROTHER CRESPI:

Settle down. I know it’s hard to

come back to school after three

weeks of vaca...but your education

must continue. Believe me, you

need it.

The kids settle in.

BROTHER CRESPI (CONT’D)

This is Oliver. He’s joining us

mid-stream here at St. Francis.

We’re happy to have him. Aren’t

we..?

The CLASS speaks in unison, albeit bored and cynical.

ENTIRE CLASS:

Welcome to St. Francis, Oliver.

BROTHER CRESPI:

Such genuine caring. Okay, Oliver,

why don’t you lead us in morning

prayer?

Sh*t. Oliver is frozen. The class stares.

BROTHER CRESPI (CONT’D)

Everyone does it sooner or later.

17.

Oliver’s turning red. He leans in to Brother Crespi,

whispers something in his ear.

OLIVER:

I think I’m Jewish.

BROTHER CRESPI:

Okay. That’s good.

(to the class)

Oliver thinks he’s Jewish.

A few KIDS speak out.

RANDOM KIDS:

(on top of each other)

So am I. I’m Buddhist. There is

no God.

Brother Crespi raises his hands before it gets out of

control.

BROTHER CRESPI:

We celebrate all religions in this

classroom. That’s why we’re

called...

The kids complete:

ENTIRE CLASS:

(with fun sarcasm)

Religions of the World, with

Brother Cary Crespi.

BROTHER CRESPI:

Bravo. Now, I happen to be

Catholic, which is the very best

religion in the world. Because we

have the most rules. But some of

us are Buddhist, Agnostic, Baptist,

Presbyterian, Christian, and “I

don’t know.” Which seems to be the

fastest growing religion on the

planet. And now we have Oliver.

Who “thinks he’s Jewish.” Which is

a new one for us as well. But...it

doesn’t preclude you from morning

prayer duty. Bow your heads.

Heads down. Oliver has no idea where to begin. Crespi

whispers to him:

BROTHER CRESPI (CONT’D)

Say anything you want. Doesn’t

have to be special.

Oliver bows his head.

OLIVER:

Dear...

18.

Silence.

BROTHER CRESPI:

(whisper)

God...etc, etc.

OLIVER:

Dear God. Thank you.

More silence.

BROTHER CRESPI:

(whisper)

Amen.

OLIVER:

Amen.

The class repeats.

ENTIRE CLASS:

Amen.

Oliver breathes. Crespi smiles at him.

BROTHER CRESPI:

You made it. Go grab your seat.

Oliver walks to his desk.

BROTHER CRESPI (CONT’D)

Let’s wipe the dust off that

textbook, young ones. Chapter

twelve. Catholic Saints.

Books shuffle. Pages turn. Oliver sits down. Beyond

embarrassed.

EXT. SANTA ANITA RACE TRACK - DAY

Horse track. Shitty cars litter the lot.

THE TRACK BREEZEWAY - CONTINUOUS

Vin’s filing out his race form. He closes his eyes, puts

the form to his temple. Channels the racing gods. It’s

his ritual.

TRACKSIDE - MOMENTS LATER

A TRUMPETER sounds the BUGLE CALL as JOCKEY’S on HORSES

settle in their stalls. The gates open...and they’re

off.

Vin’s sitting in “his” booth. Eating lunch. Drinking.

He’s always drinking.

19.

VINCENT:

Come on. Come on. Dig in.

The horses fly around the track.

VINCENT (CONT’D)

Dig. One time. One damn time.

And just like that...Vincent’s horse...loses.

VINCENT (CONT’D)

Son of a b*tch.

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