The Fabulous Baker Boys

FADE IN:

JACK BAKER:

is standing before a dirty window, looking

out at a dirty city street. He is wearing a tuxedo.

VOICE (O.S.)

Hey.

WIDEN ANGLE:

It's the GIRL from this afternoon.

JACK:

Hey.

Jack looks at the Girl, sleepy and warm under the

bedcovers, then at the rest of the apartment.

Not good.

GIRL:

Whatcha doin' over there?

JACK:

Gotta go.

GIRL:

How come?

JACK:

Job.

The Girl glances at the bedside clock.

GIRL:

Funny hours.

JACK:

Funny job.

GIRL:

Will I see you again?

Jack looks out at the dirty street again.

JACK:

No.

The Girl doesn't appear terribly unnerved by this.

GIRL:

(at the tux)

You weren't wearing that, were

you? Earlier.

Jack shakes his head, taps a brown paper bag on

the sill.

JACK:

Brought it.

GIRL:

Sh*t, thank God. You look like a creep.

JACK:

Thanks.

GIRL:

I mean, I'd hate to think I'd pick up someone

who wore that sh*t.

Jack smiles, grabs the paper bag, and moves to

the door.

GIRL:

(continuing)

Hey.

(as he stops)

You got great hands.

EXT. STREET - JACK

Jack ain't exactly Cary Grant, but any guy wearing

a tux on these streets doesn't exactly mesh with

the milieu. Pausing for a flask of whiskey at an

all-night liquor store, he breaks the seal before

he hits the sidewalk and moves on, drinking as he

goes. Finally, he comes to a nice downtown hotel.

Slipping the bottle in his coat, he squints up at

the glittering building as if sizing up an opponent.

DOORMAN:

Hey, Jackie!

JACK:

How goes it, Tommy?

TOMMY (DOORMAN)

(shrugging)

Ah, you know. Howsa pooch?

JACK:

Losing his teeth.

TOMMY:

No sh*t. It's the goddamn water. Kill an ox.

I buy bottled for my Danny. You can't trust

the taps.

JACK:

Yeah.

(standing back)

Jesus, you look like f***ing

royalty, Tommy.

Tommy brushes at his new velvet coat.

TOMMY:

Yeah. The big boys sent it down

yesterday.

JACK:

Another five years, huh?

TOMMY:

Like clockwork. You got a good

memory, Jackie.

JACK:

It ain't always a blessing. My

brother here?

TOMMY:

(nodding)

He's got blood in his eye.

Jack glances at his watch, waves to Tommy, and

moves into the hotel.

INT. HOTEL - ANGLE ON FRANK

Jack's older brother, FRANK, is pacing outside the

lounge when he sees Jack approaching.

FRANK:

Great. Terrific. Glad you could

make it.

JACK:

How we doing?

FRANK:

How we ... ? What, are you kidding

me?

JACK:

Am I late?

FRANK:

That's not the point.

JACK:

(taking out a cigarette)

What's the point?

FRANK:

You cannot continue to walk in at

the last moment, Jack.

JACK:

You want me to show up late a few

nights?

FRANK:

Jack.

JACK:

Frank.

FRANK:

Jack.

JACK:

Frank. I'm here. I always get

here. Don't sweat it.

FRANK:

Christ, will you look at your hair?

ANOTHER ANGLE:

Jack turns to the wall, which is paneled in tiny

tinted mirrors shot through with veins of gold.

JACK:

What's wrong with it?

FRANK:

You look like you just crawled out

of bed.

JACK:

No one's gonna be looking at my

hair. Come on, we're on.

Frank just stands there, bottled up with

exasperation.

JACK:

(continuing)

Careful, Frank. When you get angry your

tie starts to spin.

Jack steps into the lounge and Frank, shaking his

head, follows. As they move away, a cardboard

stand-up is revealed. On it are two 8 X 10 glossies

of Frank and Jack, and below printed in bold letters,

this:
"Tonight! The Doubly Delightful Tones of the

Fabulous Baker Boys!"

BAKER BROTHERS:

as they make their way through the dimly-lit lounge

and settle behind matching pianos, it becomes apparent

that what the "Fabulous Baker Boys" are, in fact, is a

poor man's version of Ferrante and Teicher.

WIDER ANGLE INCLUDING LOUNGE

As they begin to plink out their "theme song" tables

of middle-aged couples sipping enormous banana

daiquiries begin to tap their feet and bob their heads.

After a few bars, the boys finish with a flourish and

the couples applaud.

FRANK:

(Mr. Smile)

Thank you. Thank you. Good evening and welcome

to the Starfire lounge. My name is Frank Baker

and eighty-eight keys across from me is my

little brother, Jack.

Applause. Little brother Jack smiles, winks, and takes

a draw on his cigarette.

FRANK:

(continuing; could do this in his sleep)

You know, my brother and I have been playing

together, gosh, I don't know. How long has it

been, Jack?

JACK:

Twenty-eight years, Frank.

Applause.

FRANK:

That's a lot of water under the

bridge, eh, Jack?

JACK:

Lotta water.

FRANK:

Of course, back then, things were a little

different. I was eight, Jack was seven, just

about the only song we knew was 'My Bonnie

Lies Over the Ocean', and the only one who would

listen to us was the family cat, Cecil.

(to Jack)

We must have shaved three lives off that cat,

eh, Jack?

Laughter. Jack smiles like he's got a mouth full of

razor blades.

FRANK:

(continuing)

But seriously. It's been fifteen years since

Jack and I first stepped on the stage as

professionals. Three states, sixty-eight cities,

and more-grayhairs-then-we'd-like-to-admit later...

well, believe me, we've seen our share of this

crazy country of ours. But even though we've

played some of the finest venues in the world ...

At this point, Jack begins to mimic his brother's words.

FRANK:

(continuing)

... There's one place that's always been, for us,

a very special place, and that place is... this

place, the Starfire lounge.

Jack lays in a few soft bass chords.

FRANK:

(continuing)

Why? Well, I guess you could just say it's

the ...

(pregnant moment)

... people.

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