The Fabulous Baker Boys Page #5

FRANK:

This time you gotta go.

JACK:

I don't gotta go.

FRANK:

You gotta go.

JACK:

Says who?

FRANK:

Your older brother.

JACK:

You're thirteen months older than me, Frank.

That might've meant something in the Apache

clubhouse, but it don't cut too deep anymore.

FRANK:

Christ, Jack, it's her birthday.

Jack glances up. Frank nods.

FRANK:

(continuing)

So what do you say?

Think the city can spare you for an afternoon?

Jack squints out the window.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Okay. And don't worry about a present.

I got her something from both of us.

EXT. STREET

Jack, cradling a pink bakery box in one hand,

gets out of Frank's car and surveys the street

on which he grew up.

FRANK:

Make sure you lock.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

Unless you count the elderly gentleman picking roses

three houses down, there would not appear to be a wealth

of potential car thieves in the immediate vicinity.

But it's not Jack's car, so he doesn't press the point.

BACK TO SCENE:

FRANK:

Place looks good, huh? I got a neighbor boy to

mow the lawn, pick up. Five bucks.

Times've changed, huh?

(pointing)

See the tree?

Remember the job Cecil did on it the day

Dad planted it?

You can still see the scars on the trunk. Really.

I was looking at it just the other day.

Jesus, I thought he was gonna kill that cat.

Frank smiles, recalling Cecil's near-demise,

then raps on the front door.

Jack studies the tree a moment,

then gestures to the tiny ribboned box in Frank's hand.

JACK:

So what'd we get her?

FRANK:

You'll see.

ANGLE - FRONT DOOR

At that moment, the door swings open and ELLIE BAKER

is there, a vibrant woman in her sixties.

MRS. BAKER

Well, if it isn't the fabulous Baker Boys!

FRANK:

How's the birthday girl?

MRS. BAKER

A little stiffer, but just as sturdy.

Mrs. Baker hugs Frank, then, a bit awkwardly,

embraces Jack.

MRS. BAKER

(continuing)

John. It's good to see you.

JACK:

(uncomfortable; balancing cake box)

Good to see you, Ma.

Jack looks over his mother's shoulder at Frank and

mimics "John" with a knowing nod.

FRANK:

Uh, Ma, you know, no one calls him that anymore.

Jack. He goes by Jack.

MRS. BAKER

I thought maybe held gotten over that.

FRANK:

Twenty years, Ma ...

MRS. BAKER

Yes, yes. It's just that John is so much nicer.

Jack sounds so ... crude. When I was a little girl,

we had a pig on the farm named Jack.

I guess I just can't help making the association.

Jack's eyes slide over to Frank as if to suggest he

holds his brother personally responsible for this.

FRANK:

Uh ... yeah, well, you know, Ma,

John Kennedy went by Jack.

MRS. BAKER

Catholics. What do you expect?

Oh, well, what's in a name, right?

Let's go inside and have a look at that cake.

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