Gold Page #4
Stanton looks him in the eye. A beat.
STANTON:
Not our money.
He closes the documents with an air of finality.
STANTON (CONT’D)
We can’t help you, Mr. Wells.
WELLS:
These are jackpot, gentlemen. You
back away from these - these are
career changing opportunities.
Stanton rises from his chair.
STANTON:
If you’ll excuse us.
WELLS:
I want to talk to Clive!
Wells stands, his already red face flushing, every broken
capillary showing like battle scars.
WELLS (CONT’D)
My father put Clive Coleman on the
map. He built this goddamn bank!
STANTON:
You are not your father, Mr. Wells.
Like a dagger. Wells stands stunned by the statement.
STANTON (CONT’D)
Bring us something we can sell and
we’ll talk.
WELLS:
These are good properties.
STANTON:
They’re crap, Wells. Played out handme-
downs. I’d be embarrassed to even
talk to my clients about them.
Andrews...
Stanton slides the documents across the table at Wells.
10.
STANTON (CONT’D)
Wells gathers up his papers.
WELLS:
Yeah. Go f*** yourself.
He grabs his bag and walks out with as much dignity as he
can muster.
Stanton watches him go. He knows he did his job, he kicked
Wells's ass, but it doesn’t mean he has to feel good about it.
There but by the grace of God... Andrews, on the other hand,
is smiling, misreading his boss.
ANDREWS:
Not even noon and the guy reeks like a
still.
STANTON:
Shut up, Andrews.
EXT./INT. WELLS'S CAR - CONTINUOUS
Wells on the street. Tracking with him. Walk of shame. Door
slams. Leans back in his car seat. Trembling.
WELLS (V.O)
That had to be the worst day of my
life.
WE PULL IN CLOSE on Wells's face, panic rising in his eyes...
DISSOLVE TO:
AN AMBER STREAM OF SEAGRAMS splashing over a tumbler of ice.
WELLS (V.O) (CONT’D)
I’d lost my house and was living at
Kay’s. We were pretty close to losing
that, too.
EXT. RENO NEIGHBORHOOD - DUSK
A street of small tract homes. A nice little neighborhood
forty years ago, now it feels a lot like the people who live
here -- tired and in need of attention. It’s getting dark,
that moment the night and soul closes in.
11.
INT. KAY’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - EVENING
The place is small and reflects a woman’s touch, just the
slightest bit girly. Everything worn, humble, but maintained.
On the counter, we see a mess of BILLS, mostly RED NOTICES --
Phone. Electric. Gas. Car. Wells sits on the edge of the sofa,
talking on the phone, pitching for his very life.
WELLS:
...we’re looking at yields in the high
six figures... Yes, that’s right.
Kenny Wells. Washoe Mining. I spoke to
your wife last week.
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