Youth Page #2

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5.

The Queen’s emissary puts a cigarette between his lips and is

about to light it when he remembers that smoking is not

permitted. He stammers out one last, lame attempt.

FIFTY-YEAR OLD EMISSARY

If I may, Maestro, the Queen might

take your refusal rather poorly,

she’s not used to being told no.

Fred Ballinger, who is reading the paper, interrupts ex

abrupto rubbing the candy wrapper.

FRED BALLINGER:

I’m sure she will come to terms

with it. There are far more

important things in life than my

Simple Songs.

The emissary is disconsolate.

FIFTY-YEAR OLD EMISSARY

Well then, I shall relay our

conversation to the Queen. Good

day, Maestro.

The emissary takes his leave. His two assistants follow him.

When they get up, we see that there is a man sitting behind

them, who looks as if he has overheard the whole

conversation.

His name is Jimmy Tree. He’s thirty-four years old,

Californian, drop dead handsome, a Hollywood star. Though

it’s still early, he’s eating a steak and French fries.

Hiding behind sunglasses and a few days' razor stubble,

wearing an unflattering baseball cap and sloppy clothes, he

looks undone.

The three Englishmen are circumnavigating the pool on their

way out of the garden, when someone suddenly catches the

emissary’s attention.

This someone is floating in the pool: a man about fifty, only

his face above water. A puffy, South American face, hair dyed

a surreal yellow, full lips, tired features, dark,

intelligent eyes, and furrows far too deep for a man his age.

He stares blankly into space.

The emissary gazes at the South American and whispers to one

of his assistants.

FIFTY-YEAR OLD EMISSARY (CONT’D)

Do you see that man? Could it

really be him?

His two assistants turn to look at the man in the pool, and

recognize him immediately. They get all excited.

6.

FIRST ASSISTANT:

Why yes, it is!

SECOND ASSISTANT

Good god, it really is him.

The three Englishmen keep walking, but they can’t keep from

glancing furtively at the South American who, with the help

of a woman in her forties and three lifeguards, whom he leans

on like a dead weight, is getting out of the pool. He

struggles up the low stairs, which to him seem

insurmountable.

As he slowly emerges from the water, we see how

extraordinarily obese he is, and how much trouble he has

walking. Panting, this cumbersome yet charismatic creature

settles himself at the edge of the pool. His arms are

swarming with tattoos: faces of famous heroes from famous

revolutions.

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