Swingers Page #4

MIKE:

Tee, the beautiful babies don't work

Wednesdays midnight to six. This is the

skank shift.

TRENT:

What are you talking about? Look at all

the honeys.

Trent contorts his face at a cute WAITRESS passing by with a

tray of drinks.

TRENT:

Arrrrg!

The waitress cracks a smile as she crosses away. Mike is

visibly embarrassed.

MIKE:

Cut that sh*t out.

TRENT:

She smiled baby.

MIKE:

That's not cool.

TRENT:

Did she, or did she not smile?

MIKE:

It doesn't matter...

TRENT:

I'm telling you, they love that sh*t.

MIKE:

You're gonna screw up our plan.

TRENT:

We're gonna get laid, baby.

MIKE:

First let's see what happens if we play

it cool.

TRENT:

What? You think she's gonna tell her

pit-boss on us?

MIKE:

Don't make fun, I think we can get some

free sh*t if we don't f*** around.

TRENT:

Who's f***ing around? I'm not making fun.

Let's do it, baby.

MIKE:

The trick is to look like you don't need

it, then they give you sh*t for free.

TRENT:

Well, you look money, baby. We both

look money.

Mike points to a semi-curtained, semi-roped-off area near the

baccarat tables. The clientele is classier, but they're

still obviously overdressed.

MIKE:

(pointing)

That's where we make our scene.

TRENT:

You think they're watching?

MIKE:

Oh, they're watching all right. They're

watching.

CUT TO:

13 INT. TREASURE ISLAND CASINO - THE CLASSY SECTION - NIGHT 13

Mike is at a blackjack table with Trent at his side. The

game has paused to observe the newcomers as Mike draws a

billfold out of his breast pocket. They're pulling it off

with only slightly noticeable effort.

MIKE:

I don't know, I guess I'll start with

three hundred in, uh, blacks.

Mike tries to hand the DEALER a handful of twenties after

counting them twice.

DEALER:

On the table.

MIKE:

Sorry?

DEALER:

You have to lay it on the table.

MIKE:

Uh, I don't want to bet it all.

The other players grow impatient.

DEALER:

You're not allowed to hand me money, sir.

You'll have to lay it on the table if you

want me to change it.

MIKE:

(hastily laying down the bills)

Oh... right.

The dealer lays out the bills such that the amount is visible

to the camera encased in the black glass globe overhead.

Trent and Mike look up at it open-mouthed like turkeys in the

rain.

DEALER:

Blacks?

Mike's attention is recaptured by the dealer, but Trent

continues trying to peer through the smoked glass.

MIKE:

Huh?

DEALER:

You want this in black chips.

MIKE:

Sure, that'll be fine.

The dealer chirps out an unintelligible formality and the PIT

BOSS chirps the response. Trent's focus whips away from the

camera as both he and Mike stare at the pit boss ten feet

away.

The dealer plunks down the measly THREE CHIPS which represent

Mike's entire cash reserve. Not quite the effect he had

hoped for.

The swingers stare at the chips. The players stare at the

swingers. The dealer stares at the pit boss.

MIKE:

Do you have anything smaller?

DEALER:

Yes, but I'm afraid this table has a

hundred-dollar-minimum bet. Perhaps

you'd be more comfortable at one of our

lower stakes tables.

The dealer indicates a FIVE-DOLLAR TABLE across the room

where an Hispanic woman deals to a BLUEHAIR, a BIKER, and a

COUPLE in matching Siegfried and Roy T-shirts.

The swingers look back to the dealer who is now flanked by

the pit boss.

The tense silence is broken by...

WAITRESS:

Drinks?

(then to Trent)

How about you, Cap'n?

Trent looks over to see that it's the same WAITRESS who

flashed him a smile earlier. At first he begins to smile,

then, remembering that he is locked in a high stakes battle

of wills, subtly shakes her off. She smirks and starts to

leave until she is interrupted by Mike holding up a finger.

It's a balsy move, but everyone's watching. The kid's going

for broke.

MIKE:

(to the waitress, but never

breaking eye contact with the

dealer)

I'll have a vodka martini, straight up,

shaken not stirred, very dry.

Smooth. Trent is impressed, but masks his pride.

WAITRESS:

(under her breath cynically as

she writes it down)

One "James Bond".

Ow. She exits.

MIKE:

(regaining composure)

No. Blacks will be fine.

Mike throws a chip in the circle. Trent is shocked. That's

a hundred bucks. Mike and Trent share a look. The dealer

and the pit boss exchange glances. Bets are all down and the

cards are meticulously dealt.

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