Molly's Game Page #2

in your apartment right now?

No, sir.

Go.

You're under arrest for running

an illegal gambling operation.

Do you understand?

Uh...yes.

Say you understand.

I understand.

There's been--a mistake because

I haven't run a game in two years.

I want you to take a look at

this piece of paper right here.

Can you see what it

says at the top?

Yes.

Read to me what

it says at the top.

United States of America

vs. Molly Bloom.

I'd bet heavy on the favorite.

What do you um, think about

the following concepts?

Just gonna run 'em by you.

Marriage.

It is a trap.

Society.

It is a joke.

People.

I...think there's good and bad.

But I don't trust them.

I don't trust people.

Every year on our birthdays,

my father would interview

my younger brothers and me.

Who are the heroes or

heroines in your life?

Who uh,

who do you really respect?

I don't have any heroes.

You don't have any heroes.

How's this for hubris?

I don't.

Because if I reach the goals

I'd set out for myself,

then the person I become,

that'll be my hero.

Even by teenage girl standards,

I would appear to be irrationally

angry at nothing in particular.

It would be another 22 years

before I'd find out why.

After my colossal

wipeout at Deer Valley,

I decided to take a year

off before law school.

I needed to go away,

sever myself from reality and

come up with a new plan.

So, I chose Los Angeles.

A friend of mine

from the ski team

had agreed to let me crash

on her couch for a while.

My father had disapproved

of postponing law school

and so declined to help out.

But I had $1700 I'd saved from

babysitting money and

that would support me until

I found a waitressing job.

I'd already had a career

and retired from it.

I wanted to be young

for a while in warm weather.

I think that's what

I wanted at first.

It's hard to remember.

I got a job working

bottle service

at a club in Hollywood called

Nacional Nightclub.

It was Cuban-themed.

So my uniform was camouflage

short-shorts and a wife-beater.

The promoter would go over

which record producer

was sitting where...

which hot designers,

which Lakers,

and Boris Lava, the

Bulgarian billionaire,

who didn't drink but

who ran $100,000 bar tab.

My job was to get people to spend

more money than they needed to.

Could we get a bottle of Sky?

You guys look like

you deserve Grey Goose.

What do guys who deserve

Grey Goose look like?

To begin with, they got a bottle

of Grey Goose in front of 'em.

You're quick. Very clever.

Uh, all right, yeah. Grey Goose.

They just spent an

additional $300,

bringing their total to $900

for $8.50 worth or vodka.

But the club doesn't need

you to buy a bottle.

Rate this script:3.0 / 3 votes