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:

Shit, 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 shit.

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 shit. 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 fucking

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.

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