The Butler Page #3

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INT. GAINES HOUSE - MORNING - 1957

Cecil walks into his modest three bedroom home. A small

living room connects to the kitchen. China in glass cases,

immaculate carpets, a portrait of Jesus stares at us.

Smoking her Pall Mall, big curlers in her hair, is GLORIA,

38, tough, brash but full of love. She sits at the kitchen

table peeling potatoes, tapping her feet to “Teardrops From

My Eyes.” Warm biscuits, fat back and eggs on the stove.

CECIL V.O.

Gloria and I met working at the

Excelsior. She was a maid at the

hotel. But now her only job was

raising our two boys. I made sure

that they never laid eyes on a

cotton field.

Their youngest son, CHARLIE, 9, fidgets next to her doing his

homework. He wants out.

CHARLIE:

I gotta pee.

Gloria gives him a blank look. She’s so on to him.

GLORIA:

Not today. Don’t try that. Finish

that homework.

Cecil stands in the doorway, smiling at his family.

CECIL:

Where’s Louis at?

GLORIA:

He’s taking the trash out.

Charlie looks at his father, smiles. He’s happy to see him.

CHARLIE:

Working late again, huh?

CECIL:

Yup.

CHARLIE:

How was your shift?

Cecil drops his refined dialect at home.

CECIL:

Beats working for a livin’.

13.

He reaches for the plate of fat back. Gloria pouts sweetly.

GLORIA:

I miss you at night, honey.

CECIL:

(To Charlie)

Didn’t you say you gotta pee? Go

ahead then. And wash your hands

when you come out of that bathroom

boy.

Coffee in hand, Cecil kisses her passionately.

CECIL (CONT’D)

Good morning!

GLORIA:

Good morning sir.

Charlie runs to the bathroom. Happy to be rid of his parents.

LOUIS, 15, smart and very perceptive, enters the room.

LOUIS:

Hey dad.

He heads for the kitchen table.

CECIL:

Hey Louis. You alright?

LOUIS:

Yeah I’m fine.

Gloria goes to get Louis food. She starts pontificating.

GLORIA:

That woman whose son got killed,

she’s around doing speeches now.

(to Cecil)

What’s her name, honey?

Cecil starts to answer, Louis chimes in. He knows very well.

LOUIS:

Mamie Till.

GLORIA:

Mamie Till... I remember that story

just like it was yesterday even

though it was two years ago. It was

dis-damn-graceful what they did to

that boy just for looking at a

white woman...

14.

(MORE)

Beat him up, threw his body in the

river... killed him. He was just 14

at the time.

CECIL:

Crazy white folks down south.

She starts serving breakfast to her men. Louis takes all of

this in. He is clearly disturbed.

GLORIA:

At least we have it a little better

here in DC, huh?

CECIL:

Still treating us bad too.

GLORIA:

(Yelling to Charlie)

Get on down here Charlie!

Charlie enters from the bathroom.

CHARLIE:

Louis said we should stop taking

the white man’s sh*t.

CECIL Watch your mouth. GLORIA Watch your mouth. The telephone RINGS. Charlie charges towards the telephone.

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

(picking up the phone)

Hello, Gaines’ residence.

Charlie listens attentively.

CHARLIE (CONT’D)

Uh, yeah... Hold on Mr. Kidgan.

(To Cecil)

It’s the boss man dad.

GLORIA:

What’s he calling for?

Cecil snatches the phone.

CECIL V.O.

When the white man called, I always

assumed the worst.

15.

GLORIA (CONT'D)

CECIL:

Yes sir?

CECIL V.O.

I would have put money on it that I

was getting laid off or something

that day.

Cecil looks over at Gloria, confused by what he’s hearing.

EXT. WASHINGTON DC - MORNING - 1957

Cecil drives through his black neighborhood of storefront

businesses - grocers, hardware stores, newsstands. He makes a

right hand turn and sees off in the distance -

The White House. Cecil looks a touch nervous. He’s seen it

thousands of times, but he’s never driven to it.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - EAST WING - DAY - 1957

Cecil sits in a chair for what seems like an eternity. A

WHITE USHER comes up.

WHITE USHER:

Would you follow me, please?

CECIL:

Yes sir.

INT. FREDDIE FALLOW’S OFFICE - BLAIR HOUSE - DAY - 1957

Cecil sits in a small finely furnished office across from

FREDDIE FALLOWS, black, mid-50’s, speaks with and has the

formality of English royalty.

CECIL:

I’m Cecil Gaines. It’s a pleasure

to meet you.

FREDDIE:

You as well. Have a seat.

Long beat as Freddie eyes him over. Then -

FREDDIE (CONT’D)

Are you political, Mr. Gaines?

CECIL:

No, sir.

16.

FREDDIE:

Good, we have no tolerance for

politics at the White House.

Slight beat.

CECIL:

How did you find me?

FREDDIE:

(Icy)

I didn’t. You served RD Warner at

the Excelsior Hotel. He oversees

operations for the entire White

House. You made quite an

impression.

CECIL:

I don’t recall.

FREDDIE:

Mr. Warner and myself make note of

potential staff around town.

Butler positions rarely open as

most stay on for 30 years or more.

CECIL:

(Laughing)

I know I was quite surprised when I

got the call.

FREDDIE:

It was a surprise for me as well.

As the White House Maitre D’, I

normally hire the butlers.

Cecil knows Freddie doesn’t want him.

CECIL:

Forgive me for saying this, Mr.

Fallows, I certainly wouldn’t want

to be hired under circumstances

that would make you feel

uncomfortable.

Freddie eyes him suspiciously.

FREDDIE:

Oh, really.

CECIL:

17.

You need butlers that you’ve hand

picked, men to your liking that

will fulfill your vision of a

proper White House staff.

Freddie just stares at him. Cecil glances at a Louis Trace

decanter on a nearby table.

CECIL (CONT’D)

Is that... Louis Trace? These

decanters are replicas of metal

flasks that were found on the

battlefield in Jarnac. Correct?

Freddie studies him. Oh, he’s REALLY good.

CECIL (CONT’D)

The Italians, they know their wine,

and the Irish certainly know how to

make a great whiskey, but I believe

the French have a distinct

advantage when it comes to cognac.

Freddie stares at Cecil for a beat. Then:

FREDDIE:

Oh yeah, you’ll make a good house

nigga.

(in his best English

dialect)

Would you care for a demitasse?

INT. GAINES’ LIVING ROOM - NIGHT - 1957

A home packed with LAUGHING NEIGHBORS, all African American,

all in a festive mood. Couples dance to the scratchy VOICE of

Faye Adams. Gloria SINGS along.

GLORIA:

(Singing along)

“I wish I knew some other way...”

Sometimes it be just me and Faye up

in here. Me, Faye, and a little

scotch.

A rather loud but fun neighbor, HOWARD, 40’s, gregarious,

drunkenly dances with one of his neighbors’ wives, to the

irritation of his wife, GINA, 30, accepting and resigned.

GINA:

What did you do to this potato

salad?

18.

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