The Fabulous Baker Boys Page #3

EXT. STREET

Jack, cradling a pink bakery box in one hand,

gets out of Frank's car and surveys the street

on which he grew up.

FRANK:

Make sure you lock.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

Unless you count the elderly gentleman picking roses

three houses down, there would not appear to be a wealth

of potential car thieves in the immediate vicinity.

But it's not Jack's car, so he doesn't press the point.

BACK TO SCENE:

FRANK:

Place looks good, huh? I got a neighbor boy to

mow the lawn, pick up. Five bucks.

Times've changed, huh?

(pointing)

See the tree?

Remember the job Cecil did on it the day

Dad planted it?

You can still see the scars on the trunk. Really.

I was looking at it just the other day.

Jesus, I thought he was gonna kill that cat.

Frank smiles, recalling Cecil's near-demise,

then raps on the front door.

Jack studies the tree a moment,

then gestures to the tiny ribboned box in Frank's hand.

JACK:

So what'd we get her?

FRANK:

You'll see.

ANGLE - FRONT DOOR

At that moment, the door swings open and ELLIE BAKER

is there, a vibrant woman in her sixties.

MRS. BAKER

Well, if it isn't the fabulous Baker Boys!

FRANK:

How's the birthday girl?

MRS. BAKER

A little stiffer, but just as sturdy.

Mrs. Baker hugs Frank, then, a bit awkwardly,

embraces Jack.

MRS. BAKER

(continuing)

John. It's good to see you.

JACK:

(uncomfortable; balancing cake box)

Good to see you, Ma.

Jack looks over his mother's shoulder at Frank and

mimics "John" with a knowing nod.

FRANK:

Uh, Ma, you know, no one calls him that anymore.

Jack. He goes by Jack.

MRS. BAKER

I thought maybe held gotten over that.

FRANK:

Twenty years, Ma ...

MRS. BAKER

Yes, yes. It's just that John is so much nicer.

Jack sounds so ... crude. When I was a little girl,

we had a pig on the farm named Jack.

I guess I just can't help making the association.

Jack's eyes slide over to Frank as if to suggest he

holds his brother personally responsible for this.

FRANK:

Uh ... yeah, well, you know, Ma,

John Kennedy went by Jack.

MRS. BAKER

Catholics. What do you expect?

Oh, well, what's in a name, right?

Let's go inside and have a look at that cake.

As Mrs. Baker exits, Frank leans over to Jack.

FRANK:

Keep her busy, will ya?

I have to set a few things up.

Frank disappears, leaving Jack alone on the porch

with the bakery box. Jack shakes his head,

wondering how he's going to make it through the afternoon,

then enters the house.

INT. HOUSE

The front room is cluttered with his childhood.

Most noticeable are the pianos: two tiny uprights,

perfectly matched, their simulated ivory keys yellowed

with age. Above them, pressed between glass and framed,

are the music ribbons, faded by twenty years of sunlight.

Finally, there is the sheet music, dusty and dog-eared,

piled everywhere in drunken stacks.

This and all else in the room Jack confronts slowly,

warily, but with a noticeable dispassion,

until his eyes fall upon a photograph.

In it, he and Frank are standing alonside a tall man

in baggy slacks, safe within the arc of his long arms.

Frank is staring straight into the camera, neat, clean,

perfectly posed, but Jack, a year younger,

his shirt too big, is caught in profile,

looking up at the tall man with an almost worshipful gaze.

MRS. BAKER

(entering)

Well, now, where's everyone run off to?

Frank?

JACK:

Downstairs.

MRS. BAKER

Oh.

All at once, Jack and his mother realize they are alone.

MRS. BAKER

Well, shall we cut that cake?

Jack nods and follows her into the kitchen.

He places the box on the table and stands off to the

side while Mrs. Baker sets about preparing things.

MRS. BAKER

So. How are you?

JACK:

Fine. You?

MRS. BAKER

Oh, fine.

Silence.

Jack watches his mother poise the knife over the cake.

Her fingers are trembling.

MRS. BAKER

(continuing)

Big piece or little?

JACK:

Huh? Oh, no.

MRS. BAKER

None?

JACK:

I'm not much for sweets.

Mrs. Baker nods.

MRS. BAKER

How's that dog of yours? What was his name?

JACK:

Eddie.

MRS. BAKER

Yes. Right. Eddie. How is he?

JACK:

He's losing his teeth.

Mrs. Baker stops and looks up into Jack's eyes.

Suddenly, a NOISE is heard in the other room.

MRS. BAKER

Sounds like your brothers back with us.

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

Frank comes stumbling up the basement stairs with an

old movie projector and a roll-up screen.

MRS. BAKER

(entering)

What's all this?

Frank sets the projector down and hands his mother the

tiny ribboned box.

FRANK:

Go on.

Jack watches from the kitchen doorway as Mrs. Baker

pulls the ribbon off the box.

Inside is a tiny spool of film.

MRS. BAKER

Why, what's this?

INT. KITCHEN (LATER)

Blank screen, curtains drawn, the room dark.

Frank clicks on the projector and picks up his cake.

Mrs. Baker close on his elbow,

sets her plate on her knees and watches the screen.

Jack sits off to the side.

A title card appears:

"For Mrs. Ellie Baker, who made it all possible."

Mrs. Baker gives Frank a puzzled look.

He just smiles.

Suddenly, images spring to the screen,

obviously footage several years old,

showing Jack and Frank as children,

sitting at the tiny pianos, wearing matching suits,

smiling matching smiles as they play for the camera.

MRS. BAKER

Oh my God ...

FRANK:

Recognize these two characters?

MRS. BAKER

I thought these were lost.

Where did you find ...

FRANK:

In the attic. Behind some of Dad's stuff.

(pointing with his fork)

Look, Jack can hardly reach the pedals.

As Frank's laughter fills the dark room,

Jack stares with cold fascination at the screen.

Suddenly, a jagged cut springs the boys a year later,

in the same positions, smiling the same smiles.

MRS. BAKER

(laughing)

Oh no!

FRANK:

I had a boy down at the camera shop cut them

all together. Boy, old man Henderson didn't

fool around when he gave a haircut, did he, Jack?

Jack says nothing.

MRS. BAKER

Oh, look at you two. So skinny.

And those tiny suits ...

FRANK:

Wait. Watch. Here comes Dad.

Jack's eyes narrow as the film jumps another year

and a man enters the frame, obviously by accident.

He is so tall his face cannot be seen.

As he dances quickly out of sight,

he ruffles Jack's hair.

MRS. BAKER

That man.

As the film jumps again,

Jack glances at the photograph to his right.

The images on the screen flicker softly off

the glass of the picture frame.

MRS. BAKER (O.S.)

(continuing)

Oh, look how you're growing.

My little boys ...

Jack's eyes drift from the photograph to his mother

and brother, sitting close together in the love seat,

laughing. After a moment, their voices fade and Jack

looks back to the children on the screen,

like two tiny men, mirror images of one another.

At first the changes are subtle.

Little Jack's tie is askew, his shirt missing a button.

But as the years flick by, the brothers resemble one

another less and less, until finally,

the little boy that was Jack is completely gone and in

his place is a slouching, tousle-haired adolescent in

rumpled coat and open collar,

a cigarette hanging disdainfully from his lip.

A woman's hand darts into the frame and plucks the

offending cigarette away in a flash.

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