Youth Page #8

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It goes without saying that Fred is surprised and, at least

for a second, speechless. Then:

FRED BALLINGER:

What are you doing here?

Lena doesn’t answer, she just goes on weeping.

FRED BALLINGER (CONT’D)

Aren’t you supposed to be on a

plane to Polynesia?

She cries some more.

FRED BALLINGER (CONT’D)

Where’s Julian?

Whatever it is she says sounds like the cry of some strange

animal. Impossible to understand. She goes back to crying.

FRED BALLINGER (CONT’D)

Well, aren’t you going to answer

me?

But she doesn’t answer him. She can’t. Because she needs to

cry.

19. INT. MICK BOYLE’S SUITE. NIGHT

Mick Boyle, fully dressed, is lying on his bed, which is

covered in papers and computers, talking merrily on the

phone.

His young screen writers are all pacing the room, eyes

trained on Mick, eager to know the outcome of his phone

conversation.

MICK BOYLE:

That’s great, Nick. I’m glad you

like the second draft... Sure,

we’ll work some more on the ending,

we’re not totally happy with it

either... I talked to Brenda.

Everything’s all set... Yes, of

course, she can’t wait. When is she

ever going to get offered a part

like this again, at her age!...

Yeah, I know she’s capricious, but

she behaves with me.

(MORE)

34.

MICK BOYLE (CONT'D)

She always says I’m the best when

it comes to actresses, that I’m the

only one in the world who knows how

to direct her. So, if it’s okay

with you, I’d like to start

scouting out locations next

month... perfect. Great... yeah,

bye.

The screenwriters, pleased with what they hear, grin and pat

each other on the back.

Mick puts down the phone and looks up.

Only now do we discover the presence of Fred Ballinger

sitting impassively in a chair.

MICK BOYLE (CONT’D)

What happened to you? You look like

you just came from a funeral.

FRED BALLINGER:

Your son left my daughter.

FEMALE SCREENWRITER

F***!

MICK BOYLE:

What do you mean?

FRED BALLINGER:

They were boarding the plane for

Polynesia, and right there in the

tunnel he stops and tells her he’s

fallen in love with another woman.

MICK BOYLE:

Nothing like being in a tunnel to

make you feel you're in a tunnel.

FRED BALLINGER:

(ironic) How profound! You're quite

the magician of metaphor.

The screenwriters snigger.

MICK BOYLE:

And then he took this other woman

on vacation?

FRED BALLINGER:

It seems he at least had the good

taste not to do that. At least not

yet.

MICK BOYLE:

And Lena?

35.

FRED BALLINGER:

Lena’s in my room, crying her eyes

out. I’ve never seen anybody cry so

much my whole life. I didn’t think

it was possible to cry that much.

MICK BOYLE:

I read in some magazine once that

tear ducts can produce tears for

three days without stopping.

SHY SCREENWRITER

I heard that too, but on a BBC

documentary.

INTELLECTUAL SCREENWRITER

He’s on his deathbed, and he says

to her, "Let's watch one last BBC

documentary together, darling."

FRED BALLINGER:

Knock it off, guys.

MICK BOYLE:

I don’t know if it’s true, though,

this thing about the tear ducts. It

was in one of those popular

magazines, they have a tendency to

exaggerate, you know, better for

sales.

FRED BALLINGER:

I think we’re getting off track.

MICK BOYLE:

I think you’re right. Julian’s such

a sh*t. Just like his mother.

Remember? I idolized her, but she

was busy idolizing electricians and

grips.

FRED BALLINGER:

She idolized everyone, Mick.

FEMALE SCREENWRITER

(smiling) Ecumenicalism is a noble

ideal.

MICK BOYLE:

(with staged anger)

Ecumenicalism??? My best friend is

telling me that my ex-wife was

sleeping with everyone, and all

these years he never said a word!

Do you get how serious this is?

36.

FRED BALLINGER:

And you never told me about Gilda

Black.

MICK BOYLE:

Ok, I get it. Now that you’ve had

your little revenge, can we be

serious? I’m going to call that

shithead son of mine.

Mick grabs the phone again and dials.

FRED BALLINGER:

What are you going to do? You

really think you can convince him

to get back together with Lena?

It’s hopeless.

MICK BOYLE:

No, but I want to at least know

what happened.

His son must have said “hello” on the other end of the line,

because Mick starts in on him, his tone severe.

MICK BOYLE (CONT’D)

Julian, this is your father, even

though at this point, based on the

evidence, I’m not so sure you are

my son.

The intellectual screenwriter gestures to the shy one to take

notes.

INTELLECTUAL SCREENWRITER

Take notes. We can use this in the

film.

20. INT. DINING ROOM. HOTEL. DAY

It’s late for breakfast. Some of the waiters are already

setting up for lunch.

The only guests at this hour are the eternally silent couple.

They finish their breakfast, then get up and leave,

maintaining their strict silence the whole while.

Mick and Fred follow them with their eyes, and when they

disappear from view, Mick, with a mechanical gesture, hands

Fred fifty Swiss francs.

MICK BOYLE:

How are you always so sure they’re

not going to speak?

37.

FRED BALLINGER:

Because I know something about

them, the waiter told me.

MICK BOYLE:

What?

FRED BALLINGER:

I can’t tell you, it’s my advantage

over you.

MICK BOYLE:

Tell me right this minute. Besides,

I can always get the waiter to tell

me too, a little bribe... I’ve

thrown so much money away over this

story already...

FRED BALLINGER:

Alright then, I’ll tell you:

they’re mute.

Mick starts.

MICK BOYLE:

You little sh*t! Give me back my

money, all of it. You’re a cheat.

All bets are off.

FRED BALLINGER:

You are so gullible! I was joking,

Mick, they’re not mute.

Their conversation is interrupted by a silent apparition at

the far end of the dining room: a forty-year-old man,

impeccably dressed in jacket and tie, followed by a plump

woman who is, by all appearances, his secretary, an anonymous-

looking woman of about forty, unkempt, hair pulled back any

old way, no makeup, decent but inexpensive clothes.

Mick and Fred glare at the man who makes his way toward them.

Without even looking at her, he hands his secretary his cell

phone, and she slips it into a men’s leather briefcase.

They cross the dining room together. The man stops at Fred

and Mick’s table. The secretary keeps a few feet back and

starts fiddling with her phone, checking e-mails.

Mick looks at the man. By now it’s clear that this is his son

Julian. Stunningly handsome, classic good looks, perfect.

Confident and proud, Julian holds his father’s gaze. Fred’s

eyes ping-pong from one to the other.

MICK BOYLE:

What the hell is going on?

38.

JULIAN:

It’s really rather banal, dad. I

fell in love with another woman.

MICK BOYLE:

Who’s all of eighteen, right?

JULIAN:

No dad, she’s not eighteen. She’s

thirty. A reasonable age.

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