Youth Page #9

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MICK BOYLE:

Well, however old she is, you’ve

really f***ed up.

JULIAN:

That’s your opinion.

MICK BOYLE:

Yes, that is my opinion. Lena is an

extraordinary woman. At this point

I realize, of course, that she’s

wasted on you. She’s far too

intelligent for you.

JULIAN:

Perhaps. But why did you make me

come? I’m not about to change my

mind.

MICK BOYLE:

That’s what everyone says, at

first. Then they end up begging

their spouse to take them back. I

can’t tell you how many times I’ve

seen it...

JULIAN:

Mom left you and she never begged

you to take her back.

MICK BOYLE:

(to Fred) What did I tell you? You

see now where he gets it from, this

a**hole?

JULIAN:

So in your opinion, a man’s an

a**hole because, even if he didn’t

want to, even if he tried like

crazy to stay with his wife, even

if he booked them a dream vacation,

he realizes he just can’t go

through with it because he has

fallen hopelessly in love with

another woman?

39.

MICK BOYLE:

Just like your mother!

Melodramatic, hyperbolic, and

completely idiotic.

JULIAN:

Thanks, Dad.

MICK BOYLE:

(explodes) Well then, are we

allowed to know who this whore

you’ve fallen in love with is?

WOMAN’S VOICE

Me.

Fred and Mick go white. They lean forward. We’d nearly

forgotten about the nondescript secretary standing behind

Julian, but it was she who spoke. She takes a step forward

and reaffirms in a dignified manner:

SECRETARY:

I am the woman Julian has lost his

head for. We’re getting married as

soon as his divorce is finalized.

JULIAN:

Precisely.

Fred’s and Mick’s jaws drop. Stunned in disbelief, they just

gape at her, at a loss for words.

The woman stands close to Julian. They put their arms around

each other. He is gorgeous, as handsome as George Clooney.

She just the opposite.

MICK BOYLE:

And who the f*** are you?

SECRETARY:

My name is Paloma Faith. And I’m

not a whore. I’m a singer.

JULIAN:

(proud) We work together. I'm

producing her next album.

Mick recovers a grain of sense and says:

MICK BOYLE:

Excuse me, Miss, but could you

leave us alone for a moment? My

son’s father-in-law and I need to

have a word in private with Julian.

40.

PALOMA FAITH:

Okay, but not for long. We can't

stand being apart from each other

for more than five minutes.

MICK BOYLE:

Very kind of you, dear, but don't

worry, I'll only need a minute to

fathom my son's psychology.

The woman walks away, her gait ackward and ungainly.

Fred and Mick follow her with their eyes and wait until she

has left the dining room before they turn to meet Julian’s

proud, impassive gaze.

Mick seems sincere now. He truly wants to fathom the mystery

of the human condition.

MICK BOYLE (CONT’D)

Forgive me, Julian, but I’m trying

to understand. It may be banal, and

maybe I’m too old to understand,

but you have to explain something

to me:
Lena is a beautiful woman, a

dream. And this one here is the

most insignificant woman on the

face of the planet. In short, I

mean, but you, what the f*** do you

see in her?

Julian is ill at ease for the first time. He sighs, looks

away.

JULIAN:

You really want to know?

MICK BOYLE:

Yes, Julian, I really want to know.

Julian takes his time. He checks to make sure his secretary

is not in the room, then turns and looks at his father and

says all in one breath:

JULIAN:

She’s really good in bed.

Mick and Fred are really at a loss for words now.

21. EXT. COUNTRY LANE. DAY

Fred and Lena walk through that beautiful valley.

Proud and serious, she stares into the distance.

41.

He is ill at ease and doesn’t know what to say. He’s

distracted by the sound of a bird that suddenly starts to

sing when Lena calls him back to reality.

LENA:

So who is this b*tch?

FRED BALLINGER:

Somebody by the name of Paloma

Faith.

LENA:

And what does she do?

FRED BALLINGER:

The most obscene thing in the

world.

LENA:

She’s a prostitute?

FRED BALLINGER:

Worse. She’s a pop star.

LENA:

And what did Julian say?

FRED BALLINGER:

I already told you.

LENA:

Not really. All you did was babble

incomprehensibly.

FRED BALLINGER:

Julian was the one who was

babbling. He’s not all there in the

head.

LENA:

It doesn’t seem that way to me. He

must have made twenty decisions in

two hours. He moved out. He rented

an apartment. He spoke with a

divorce lawyer. That doesn’t seem

like a confused man to me. You keep

telling me this woman is ugly and

insignificant, so what does he see

in her that he didn’t in me?

FRED BALLINGER:

How should I know?

LENA:

You told me Mick asked him.

FRED BALLINGER:

Did I?

42.

LENA:

Yes, that’s what you said. So what

was Julian’s response?

FRED BALLINGER:

You know, Lena, I don’t remember.

LENA:

You’re really pissing me off,

daddy. You remember perfectly well,

and you’re hopeless at telling

lies. What did he say?

FRED BALLINGER:

I really don’t remember, I swear.

He must have mumbled something

idiotic.

LENA:

If you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll

scream right here and now. What did

he say? What the f*** does this

woman have - at least according to

Julian - that I don’t? I want to

know what he said! I want to know.

Fred stops. He can’t stand it any more. He sighs deeply. And

decides to tell her what she wants to know.

FRED BALLINGER:

He said she’s good in bed.

Lena turns to stone. Her face tightens, sours nastily. With a

savage coldness, she says to her father.

LENA:

You didn’t have to tell me.

And she storms off, leaving her father alone in the middle of

the valley as the two notes the little boy had played return,

not on a violin now, but on a gloomy double bass.

21A. INT. WELLNESS CENTER (VARIOUS SETTINGS). DAY

21A/1

Those two gloomy notes hover in the steam of the Turkish

baths and saunas, where backlit, naked bodies of all ages

look lifeless, abandoned to the heat and sweat.

Toned, gleaming bodies, ample, round bodies, old, worn-out

bodies. This is the work of wellness. This is how some people

try to prolong the future or awkwardly pursue a youthful

past.

21A/2 21A/3

And then, more bodies, eyes closed, buried in tubs, wrapped

in herbs and mud. Like living meadows.

43.

Motionless still lifes, while the double bass plays

discreetly, without ever moving away from those two simple

notes.

22. INT. MASSAGE ROOM. DAY

Candles, incense, shadows.

And the two double bass notes, to which is now added a slight

variation.

Fred and Lena are lying on their backs on marble benches.

Naked, but completely covered in dark mud.

They look like they’ve been petrified in some volcanic

eruption. Their eyes are the only part of them not covered in

mud. They stare lifelessly at the ceiling, on which a soft

and hypnotic light plays.

Fred, rather awkwardly, is trying to be fatherly.

FRED BALLINGER:

Believe me, Lena, I can understand

you, really, I can.

Silence. Lena doesn’t respond. But when she does, she is

lucid, furious, and ruthless.

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