The Game Page #7

NICHOLAS:

Is there a problem?

The female guard looks up, turns the conveyor belt back on.

Nicholas' briefcase arrives.

Nicholas moves on, aggravated. Ahead, Sutherland rises from

a seat along the concourse hallway, walking to meet him.

NICHOLAS:

I wasn't expecting you.

SUTHERLAND:

Wanted to wish you luck. Not that

you'll need it.

Sutherland offers the contract, points to Nicholas' shirt.

SUTHERLAND:

Attractive...

NICHOLAS:

(paging thru contract)

Don't ask.

SUTHERLAND:

I checked it personally.

Nicholas nods, props his briefcase up on a window ledge,

opens it and drops the contract in.

CUT TO:

EXT. SEATTLE AIRPORT, RUNWAY -- DAY

Nicholas' jet touches down.

EXT. SEATTLE AIRPORT, LOADING ZONE -- DAY

Nicholas follows a CHAUFFEUR. The chauffeur opens a LIMO

door. Several pressed SHIRTS hang waiting.

EXT. BAER/GRANT BUILDING -- DAY

In the shadow of the Baer/Grant Publishing offices, the

limousine idles. Downtown Seattle.

INT. BAER/GRANT PUBLISHING, ALAN BAER'S OFFICE -- DAY

Meet ALAN BAER, elderly CEO, blue-blooded, pissed.

ALAN BAER:

All these years... the first time

ever you step foot in these offices,

it's to ask me to step down?

Nicholas stands by CHILDREN'S TEXT BOOK mock-ups. "Math-

Magic." "Wonder-Words." They're "Little Baer Books."

NICHOLAS:

You promised you'd meet projections,

Alan. A dollar sixty per share you

said. So, I don't think this is so

surprising a visit.

ALAN BAER:

Projections were far too optimistic.

NICHOLAS:

Admittedly...

ALAN BAER:

Our E.P.S. was one fifty last

quarter. We're up eight cents per

share.

NICHOLAS:

But, the expectation was ten. And,

in this case, expectation is

everything.

ALAN BAER:

Will you really hold me to it over

pennies?

NICHOLAS:

My stock's falling. Isn't yours?

Those pennies are costing me

millions.

ALAN BAER:

The stock will turn.

NICHOLAS:

It probably will. In fact, I'd go so

far as to say it almost certainly

will, in time. Why should I settle

for that?

ALAN BAER:

Because it's fair. Give me next

quarter. If you still feel this way,

vote your shares...

NICHOLAS:

You're talking tomorrow. Today is

what counts.

ALAN BAER:

You intractable son-of-a-b*tch. If

your father could see you now...

NICHOLAS:

What?

ALAN BAER:

Your father was a friend. Goddamn

it... I watched you grow up. How do

you end up treating me like this?

This swings Nicholas into a new mode: acutely-focused anger.

NICHOLAS:

It is so very inappropriate for you

to mention my father. Or, did you

think this, between us, was

friendship? Just because you went

fishing with my father, I should sit

on my hands while you throw my money

away?

ALAN BAER:

Now, look...

NICHOLAS:

(holds up his hand)

I'll be done in a minute. You

misspoke before. You're not

"stepping down." I'm taking you out

at the knees. The whole point is to

prove that you're not deciding

anything anymore. I'm firing you.

Action's taken. Confidence restored.

Stock goes up. I sell my shares.

ALAN BAER:

There is no Baer/Grant Publishing

without Alan Baer.

NICHOLAS:

Remember Daniel Grant? Do they

say, "without Daniel Grant, there is

no Baer/Grant Publishing?" He's gone

sailing, Alan. He's out there

enjoying his golden years, probably

wondering where you are.

At Alan's desk, Nicholas clears a space for his briefcase.

NICHOLAS:

You made a promise. You failed. The

severance I'm offering is more than

equitable. Valid tonight only.

(looks at watch)

For one hour.

Nicholas takes a pen from a holder, lays it on the blotter.

NICHOLAS:

I'll step outside, so you'll have the

privacy you need to read and sign it.

He tries to unlatch his briefcase clasp. It's stuck.

ALAN BAER:

I could fight you on this.

NICHOLAS:

You could. But, if I leave without

your signature, this agreement begins

to disintegrate; benefits shrink,

options narrow, compensations

shrivel.

Nicholas works on the briefcase the whole time, distraction

growing as it becomes a true struggle.

NICHOLAS:

So... it is in your best interest...

to sign presently.

Nicholas sits, pulling the latch, trying to see what's

jammed. It refuses to open. Nicholas stares at it,

frustrated, then... an odd realization...

He takes his keys out, finds the C.R.S. KEY, tries it...

It doesn't fit. It was never meant for this lock. Alan

Baer watches, wondering.

Forgetting himself, Nicholas grabs up the briefcase,

pulling, grunting, desperate, striking it with his palm.

Nicholas straightens, immediately composed.

NICHOLAS:

Well... as luck would have it, you've

just gotten a reprieve, I'm sure

you'll come around to my way of

thinking.

(picks up briefcase)

I have a plane to catch. My

attorneys will contact you.

Nicholas exits. Alan Baer doesn't know quite what to think.

CUT TO:

EXT. SEATTLE AIRPORT TERMINAL -- DAY

On the sidewalk, Nicholas bashes his briefcase over and over

again against a fire hydrant.

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT, RUNWAY -- SUNSET

Nicholas' jet touches down.

INT. CAMPTON PLACE RESTAURANT -- NIGHT

Nicholas sits staring. His battered briefcase is near. He

checks his watch, impatient, flags down a WAITER...

NICHOLAS:

Is there a message up front from a

Conrad Van Orton?

The waiter goes. Nicholas drums his fingers. He slides out

of the booth, rising. when a WAITRESS knocks into him with a

tray. Wine spills. Glasses crash.

WAITRESS:

Oh, excuse me...

Nicholas looks down at his wine-stained front. The waitress

is CHRISTINE, same waitress as the other night. She tries

to clean him up with a napkin.

CHRISTINE:

I'm so sorry.

NICHOLAS:

Please, don't do that...

Nicholas snatches the napkin from her, wiping his suit.

CHRISTINE:

I apologize, sir, I'm having a

bad day...

NICHOLAS:

A bad month. You did the exact same

thing to me last week.

Christine's taken aback.

NICHOLAS:

Don't help me, just get more napkins.

And soda water.

CHRISTINE:

(gets more napkins)

It was an accident.

NICHOLAS:

Terrific. I now have a hundred

dollar dry cleaning bill.

CHRISTINE:

I said I was sorry...

Nicholas turns his back on her, throwing wet napkins,

picking up clean ones, still patting at the stain.

CHRISTINE:

(stews)

A**hole.

Nicholas turns, angry. The MAITRE D' arrives, shocked.

MAITRE D'

Christine! Mister Van Orton is a

valued customer...

CHRISTINE:

Then, you kiss his ass.

She's leaving, but the maitre d' pulls her aside.

MAITRE D'

You don't talk to me like that.

CHRISTINE:

(quiet, evenly)

I apologized, I offered to help.

MAITRE D'

Clean out your locker.

CHRISTINE:

Fine, Dennis. Soon as I get my money

for this week.

MAITRE D'

I'll be right with you.

Christine heads to the back. The maitre d' motions for BUS

BOYS to clean, smoothly guiding Nicholas to a new table...

MAITRE D'

I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Van Orton.

If you're not too uncomfortable, will

this table suit you for a

complimentary meal... ?

NICHOLAS:

Yes. Fine.

MAITRE D'

I'll fetch your waiter.

Nicholas sits, keeps wiping his shirt as the maitre d'

hurries away. After a moment, a uniformed WAITER moves

past, leaves a CHECK...

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes