Which Lie Did I Tell? (46 page)

Read Which Lie Did I Tell? Online

Authors: William Goldman

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Film & Video, #Nonfiction, #Performing Arts, #Retail

BOOK: Which Lie Did I Tell?
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(heartbroken)
I was just so ready to start my career--
--now SHIRLEY sees why she’s crying, has to fight back tears himself. CLIMBER follows their eyes and we
CUT TO
HAMILTON KEMPNER THE THIRD, otherwise known as TRIP--
--standing alone under the marquee, looking around, ticket in his hand.
CUT TO
CLIMBER--TRIP hasn’t spotted them yet--but he quickly looks out at the APPROACHING MAN, shakes his head sharply--“Sorry”--the other guy gets it immediately, takes his kids’ hands, peels off as CLIMBER turns to his children--
CLIMBER
(tougher than shit)
I am
ashamed
, and when I tell my pop, he will turn his head away in despair. Someday,
someday
, when the Big A comes along--
and you never know when
--you have to be
ready
--but not you two--you’ll just suck your rich thumbs and wait for the butler to save you.
(and on that)
CUT TO
TRIP, as THE KIDS run up behind him, pulling at him happily. CLIMBER, looking miserable, waits a few feet away, holding two Kabuki programs.
TRIP
Just thought I’d surprise you.
SHIRLEY
Yesss.
PHOEBE
Can you take us to dinner and then home?
TRIP
Love to, but business, you know.
(they look sad)
See you at intermission.
CUT TO
PHOEBE AND SHIRLEY, taking their seats in the the-ater. They wave to TRIP, who is seated across the theater. CLIMBER sits between them. A sea of Asian faces.
The house lights dim.
SHIRLEY
(head down, whispered)
The bastard.
PHOEBE
He was snooping, wasn’t he, Daddy?
CLIMBER
(nods)
But all in vain.
SHIRLEY
Why?
Now it’s dark in the theater.
CLIMBER
(beat)
Because our job is tonight.
(and on that news--)
CUT TO
THE KIDS. Their eyes are dancing again.
CUT TO
THE CURTAIN rising.
CUT TO
THE STAGE, as suddenly the stylized Kabuki stuff starts. Applause from the aficionados.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. A silent groan.
CUT TO
PHOEBE. They lean close. SHIRLEY whispers to her.
SHIRLEY
(indicating the dancing)
Poor Daddy.
PHOEBE
(whispering so soft)
Daddy?
(he looks at her)
I promise I’ll never suck my rich thumb ever again.
HOLD ON THE FAMILY. Then--
CUT TO
A STREET IN THE VILLAGE. One hot mother of a night.
Busy, lots of Italian restaurants from before pasta cost 25 bucks a plate.
Busy but not chic. There are a couple of bodegas along the block. The occasional housewife goes in for provisions. More frequently, the neighborhood drunks stagger out with six-packs.
CUT TO
We are looking through the window at kind of a dump called
Salerno
. Red-checked tablecloths. Pretty much empty. An OLD DRUNK sits nodding at the bar.
A COUPLE are eating alone in the rear by the restrooms--we have seen them before. THE CRYING WOMAN WITH THE LARGE SUNGLASSES. THE GUILTY-SEEMING MAN.
They both seem happier now. A few papers are spread out on the table between them. She still wears her huge sunglasses but is not crying anymore. And he does not seem particularly guilty.
CUT TO
THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT. A sketch artist has set up shop in front. “Five bucks,” his cardboard sign says. No one pays him much mind. Business is slow.
CUT TO
ACROSS THE STREET AND THE CLIMBER, deep in conversation with another man--we’ve seen him before too--he’s the guy who gets their matinee tickets--only now he is working and we see he is a police sergeant.
CLIMBER
(on edge)
Thanking you in advance for sticking around, Bertie.
POLICE SERGEANT
For what I owe you, forget it.
(looking around)
What you got going?
CLIMBER
My kids are working the case with me.
(and on that)
CUT TO
THE POLICE SERGEANT. And if you thought he might laugh, you couldn’t be more wrong--
POLICE SERGEANT
You bastard.
(he can’t help it, slugs CLIMBER on the arm, looks at him with envy and admiration)
How great is that?--shit, my kids have zero interest in cop work. It’s Wall Street for them all the way.
(looking around now)
Where they stashed?
CLIMBER
The sketch artist, he’s mine.
CUT TO
THE STREET. A bodega is next to Salerno. A bunch of drunks come out, see the SERGEANT, straighten up, walk on past the SKETCH ARTIST. A little blind girl with a white cane passes them, tapping along.
POLICE SERGEANT
(calling out)
Young lady, you should be at home.
(the blind girl nods, hurries on)
CLIMBER
(proud)
She can only practice her cane work when her mother’s out.
POLICE SERGEANT
(wow)
That’s the little one I see in the car? Looks like Edward G. Robinson?
(CLIMBER nods)
CUT TO
PHOEBE, moving expertly with her cane.
CUT TO
CLIMBER AND THE SERGEANT, watching. THE SERGEANT shakes his head.
POLICE SERGEANT
I would kill to be you tonight.
CLIMBER
(thank you)
They put in the hours.
POLICE SERGEANT
I’ll be around somewhere.
(and as he starts off)
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. A soft whistle.
CUT TO
THE BLIND GIRL. Stops, comes to him.
CLOSE UP
PHOEBE. The vacant look, the head just a bit tilted, she’s got it all.
CLIMBER is seated on a stoop now, half in shadow. PHOEBE stops beside him, never looks at him.
CLIMBER
They’re at the back table--
(she knows this)
--Pop thinks they’re heading someplace we can’t nail down. See what you can do.
(OK with her)
Give me one minute to get into position.
(and on that)
CUT TO
THE SKETCH ARTIST, sitting with his notepad on the sidewalk by the restaurant. An empty folding chair alongside.
CLIMBER
(sits)
What do I get for five bucks?
SHIRLEY
(handing over his pad)
See for yourself.
CUT TO
THE NOTEPAD as CLIMBER flips through. The work, of course, is brilliant.
We see a drawing of a sweet mother and child.
Next page--the front of the restaurant, the clock over the bar clear to see.
Next page. 8:45 by the clock, and the WOMAN WITH SUNGLASSES pauses to open the door. Even here, she is furtive.
Next page. 9:02 by the clock. Here comes the GUILTY GUY.
Next page. 9:05. The couple is kissing at the rear of the restaurant.
CUT TO
CLIMBER. He nods, hands back the pad.
CLIMBER
Five bucks it is.
A TAPPING SOUND behind them. PHOEBE moves past.
Next door at the bodega, a couple of housewives jabber in Spanish on the sidewalk, a couple of flashily dressed drunks stagger in for more beer.
CUT TO
INSIDE THE SALERNO.
The owner, maitre d’, whatever, looks up from his position by the door, an odd expression on his face.
MAITRE D’
Can I help you, Miss?
PHOEBE
(whispered)
I have to get home and I don’t know if I can make it without a stop.
MAITRE D’
You want to use our ladies’ room?
PHOEBE
Oh, that would be so kind of you.
THE GUY looks at her a moment.
MAITRE D’
This was from birth?
CUT TO
PHOEBE. Hmmm. She taps her cane a moment.
PHOEBE
A sickness.
(doesn’t want to talk about it)
When I was three.
(sweetly)
I still remember what stars look like.
CUT TO
THE MAITRE D’. Who wouldn’t be touched? Gestures.
MAITRE D’
Want me to take you back?
PHOEBE
I have to learn these things. But thank you.
CUT TO
CLIMBER AND SHIRLEY, watching as she makes it past the MAITRE D’, starts toward the table in the rear.
SHIRLEY
(you can tell he’s excited--calmly)
Turn your head.
(CLIMBER does as we)
CUT TO
THE COUPLE AT THE REAR TABLE. A BLIND KID is coming toward them but they are totally involved with each other.
Now we can tell what some of the papers spread out between them are: airplane tickets.
CUT TO
PHOEBE’S close to them--
--her cane ticks a chair, slips free, falls. She reaches out, uses their table for support, slowly gropes for the cane, picks it up, stands, moves on, and as she heads for the ladies’ room--
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER. And he’s been through a lot of shit these past years, but right now, you get the sense that it’s almost,
almost
, been worth it--
--at least until the gunfire starts and suddenly
CUT TO
THE WINDOW OF THE BODEGA, shattering--
--from inside,
screams
--
--from inside, shouts of rage and shock--
--from inside, more gunfire, louder and louder and
CUT TO
CLIMBER, diving toward SHIRLEY, bringing him into his arms, lowering him to the sidewalk, cradling him, shielding him, his own gun out and ready and
CUT TO
INSIDE THE SALERNO as the drunk at the bar rises up--it’s JIMMY--hurrying toward the back of the restaurant, and sure he needs a cane and usually it’s tough getting around and he sees PHOEBE looking out from the restroom area and as he grabs her, lifts her into his arms, starts to carry her to the street--
CUT TO
OUTSIDE and THE POLICE SERGEANT, gun out, races toward the bodega, and behind him here come two more COPS and the gunfire is still going on inside the wrecked bodega and
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER, lying there, holding his son, stroking him, whispering “It’s okay, it’s okay” over and over and
CUT TO
THE BODEGA, and suddenly no more shots--you can hear the voices of the cops shouting instructions to “lay there and don’t fucking move” and--
CUT TO
JIMMY, with PHOEBE, joining CLIMBER AND SHIRLEY on the sidewalk.
PHOEBE
(yesss)
Bali
!
CUT TO
THE FAMILY, as they all just stare at one another and suddenly the knowledge hits them that it’s all okay, everything is going to be okay--
--wrong--
--so wrong--
--because here comes TRIP toward them--
-- and behind him, ECHO.
CUT TO
ECHO. CLOSE UP.
Shocked
by what she has just seen and
stunned
by what she has just seen and
in a rage
over what she has just seen.
CUT TO
CLIMBER, getting to his feet. Shakily.
CLIMBER
(hard to hear)
I didn’t mean for this to happen--I am so sorry…
ECHO
(distinct)
You cannot imagine how sorry you are going to be.
(and as she reaches out for her children--)
CUT TO
TWO LARGE OFFICE DOORS. With this written on them:
THE SINCLAIR FOUNDATION
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER AND JIMMY opening the doors, heading inside.
We are in one of those offices. God knows how large, but done in wonderful taste. A receptionist sits waiting. Chairs and leather couches.
The Sinclair Foundation is like the Ford Foundation or any of those other great charitable institutions set up decades and decades past.
Their purpose is simple: to give away money. And to do it fairly. And well.
ECHO, we will find, heads it. Fairly and well.
THE CLIMBER has been here before, is just as out of place as ever.
He wears his best suit, his shoes are shined. He does his best to seem terrific.
JIMMY has never been here. Doesn’t want to be here now.
RECEPTIONIST
(checking her appointment list)
Ralph Jones?
(CLIMBER starts to set her straight, what’s the point. He nods)
Follow me, please--
(and as she rises)
CUT TO
A LARGE CONFERENCE ROOM. Empty at the moment. Like the rest of the place, it’s more or less in perfect taste.
THE RECEPTIONIST ushers them in, excuses herself.
CUT TO
THE CLIMBER AND JIMMY. They move here, examine there--not a lot to say. And the tension is mounting steadily. Now--
CUT TO
JUDGE HAMPTON coming in. He carries papers.
This is a marvelous man, seventy-five at least, looks sixty. He has headed the family legal affairs for a very long time.
JUDGE HAMPTON
(embracing CLIMBER)
Ralph.
CLIMBER
Judge Hampton.
(indicating JIMMY)
My father.
JUDGE HAMPTON
(the two old men shake)
We met when Ralph and Jennifer married. I’m sure we’d both had a few.

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