The Fabulous Baker Boys Page #2

ANGLE - JACK

Smoke curls out of Jack's nose. He is utterly still,

like a pit bull eyeing a steak.

BACK TO SCENE:

LLOYD:

Okay, boys, that ought to buy you a few more

lessons. By the way, Frankie, I'm declaring this.

Lloyd slaps a slender envelope onto the desk and,

business closed, busies himself with other matters.

FRANK:

Uh ... You don't know when you'll be wanting us

back, do you, Lloyd?

LLOYD:

I'll call you.

FRANK:

Uh, well, you know, the way our schedule is, I

thought maybe...

LLOYD:

I'll call you.

Frank bites down and takes the envelope from the desk.

JACK:

Count it.

FRANK:

Huh?

JACK:

Count it.

FRANK:

Jack...

JACK:

Count the f***ing money, Frank.

Lloyd looks up. Jack is staring right into him.

Reluctantly, Frank opens the envelope.

FRANK:

It's all here.

(pulling Jack out)

I'll be talking to you, Lloyd.

Lloyd doesn't answer. He just looks at Jack, smiling

with amusement.

EXT. STREET - JACK AND FRANK

Jack comes out onto the street holding the wrapped

soup bone, dogged by Frank, who's got the cardboard

stand-up under his arm.

FRANK:

You mind telling me what that was about in there?

Was that planned?

Or were you just bored and decided

to get creative?

JACK:

F*** him.

FRANK:

This isn't the Pine Tree Inn on

Route 81, Jack.

JACK:

F*** him.

FRANK:

(to himself)

F*** him. Great. Terrific. F*** him.

The fabulous Bakers walk in silence until they come to

Frank's car. Frank opens the trunk and starts to put

the stand-up away.

JACK:

So we on tomorrow night?

FRANK:

(shaking his head)

Maybe Thursday. I hear the harpist at the

Sheraton's got appendicitis.

Jack nods and starts to walk away.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Hey.

Jack stops.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Listen ... why don't you come out to the house

this weekend. Say hello to the kids.

They've grown.

JACK:

I hate your kids, Frank.

FRANK:

You're their uncle.

JACK:

Only by relation. Besides, they hate me, too.

FRANK:

They don't. They're always asking about you.

JACK:

They tried to electrocute me, Frank.

FRANK:

It was an accident.

JACK:

It was no f***ing accident, Frank. The little

one ...

FRANK:

Cindy.

JACK:

She threw a goddamn radio into the bathtub.

How do you explain that?

FRANK:

She didn't know what she was doing.

You're too sensitive.

JACK:

You got weird kids, Frank.

FRANK:

Look, I just thought if you came out you might

see what you're missing.

Jack just stares at Frank.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Just think about it, all right?

Consider it a standing offer.

Frank closes the trunk and moves to the driver's side.

FRANK:

(continuing;like a litany)

You want a ride, Jack? No, Frank,

I'll walk. Okay, Jack, good night.

Good night, Frank.

Frank turns the ENGINE OVER and pulls away from the curb.

Jack watches the taillights burn into the distance,

then takes the whiskey bottle from his coat and heads

for home.

ANGLE - APARTMENT BUILDING

Jack crosses the street and waves up to his apartment

building, where a black labrador is studying him from

a second story window.

INT. JACK'S APARTMENT

Jack's apartment is small, old, and comfortably

cluttered. The most striking item is a vintage phone

booth placed against the wall. As Jack lets himself in,

EDDIE, the dog from the window, walks over. He is not

an overly enthusiastic dog, but you can see from his

face that he has a great deal of affection for Jack.

JACK:

Hi, pal. Thought you were gonna clean the

apartment.

Eddie nuzzles the soup bone. Jack unwraps the paper

and hands it over.

JACK:

(continuing)

Take it easy, will ya? You're becoming a regular

Johhny Appleseed the way you're dropping teeth

around here.

Jack hangs his tie on the phone booth and walks over

to an old phonograph stacked six deep with discs.

He lifts the records back up the post and clicks ON the

MACHINE. As Bill Evans' smoky "PEACE PIECE" fills the

tiny apartment, Jack breaks the collar of his shirt and

walks over to the old piano near the window. Settling

back with the bottle of whiskey, Jack rests his elbows

gently on the keys and stares out the open window,

listening to the music.

INT. PIANO STORE

Jack and Frank work opposite sides of a large piano

showroom, inspecting rentals of every style and color.

WILLIE, the owner of the place, leans against a cheap

upright, contemplating his shoes.

FRANK:

What happened to the two Clays, Willie?

WILLIE:

Out.

FRANK:

When they coming in?

WILLIE:

Wednesday next.

Frank looks across the room at Jack.

FRANK:

What d'ya got?,

JACK:

Bosen black.

(taps a key)

Flat.

FRANK:

What d'you say, Willie? Tighten her up?

WILLIE:

What's the gig?

FRANK:

Two nights.

Willie just looks at his shoes and shakes his head.

Frank frowns and glances around.

Across the room, Jack pauses before another piano.

FRANK:

(continuing)

What d'ya got?

JACK:

(tapping)

Yamaha white. Nice.

Frank moves to another grand and alternates taps with

his brother to see if the two pianos are in harmony.

FRANK:

What do you think?

JACK:

Try the black Knable.

Frank moves to another piano and repeats the process,

watching Jack for a verdict.

After a moment, Jack nods.

FRANK:

Tag 'em, Willie. The Regency downtown,

Thursday-Friday. Thanks.

WILLIE:

My pleasure.

INT. DINER

The brothers sit at a window of a corner diner,

Jack nursing an ice coffee,

Frank playing with a plate of scrambled eggs.

The glass next to them is cluttered with photographs

of neighborhood luminaries,

including two of Jack and Frank in their tuxedoes.

FRANK:

You know, I think it's been five years since I

saw you eat anything. That's the God's truth.

JACK:

Trust me, you're not missing anything.

FRANK:

You look awful.

JACK:

Thanks.

FRANK:

Really. You sleeping?

JACK:

Only on odd days.

FRANK:

(a look)

Seeing anyone in particular?

JACK:

Why the interest?

FRANK:

Because I'm your brother. Because I care about

you. Because sometimes it seems like the most

significant relationship in your life is with

that goddamn dog of yours.

Jack studies his brother's face.

JACK:

I'm not seeing anyone. In particular.

FRANK:

What about that waitress at the Ambassador?

JACK:

Uh-uh. How about you? You seeing anyone?

FRANK:

Funny.

(points at his wedding band)

Strike a bell?

JACK:

It's only a ring. Not a collar.

FRANK:

It's more than that.

Jack smiles and sips his coffee.

FRANK:

(continuing)

By the way, we gotta go see Ma tomorrow.

JACK:

No thanks.

FRANK:

No, I mean it.

JACK:

So do I.

FRANK:

We gotta go, Jack.

JACK:

No, you gotta go 'cause if you don't get up

there every couple weeks you feel guilty.

I won't feel guilty, so I don't gotta go.

FRANK:

This time you gotta go.

JACK:

I don't gotta go.

FRANK:

You gotta go.

JACK:

Says who?

FRANK:

Your older brother.

JACK:

You're thirteen months older than me, Frank.

That might've meant something in the Apache

clubhouse, but it don't cut too deep anymore.

FRANK:

Christ, Jack, it's her birthday.

Jack glances up. Frank nods.

FRANK:

(continuing)

So what do you say?

Think the city can spare you for an afternoon?

Jack squints out the window.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Okay. And don't worry about a present.

I got her something from both of us.

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