

## A Comedy of Dreams

## Neil Hetzner

Copyright 2014 by Neil Hetzner

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved
FADE IN:

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - DAY

GIACOMO PASQUALE, heavyset, early fifties, dressed in a dark suit with an obvious bulge under the armpit sits behind an enormous desk. PASQUALE's finger is tapping his temple. After several taps, he points the finger at the phone. A second later the phone rings

PASQUALE

Yeah?

SANTALINI

(in an old quavery voice, Brooklyn accent)

Recognize the voice?

PASQUALE

Yeah.

SANTALINI

Know who this is?

PASQUALE

Yeah. I said yeah.

SANTALINI

Listen. Listen good.

PASQUALE

Yeah, yeah.

SANTALINI

Really, you know who this is?

PASQUALE

Yeah, yeah, fucking yeah.

SANTALINI

What a miracle, huh? American technology. Never had nothing like this in the old country. I love this country. I always say what a country. Hey, I got a problem. Big problem. Need a meet.

PASQUALE

(hesitantly)

Where?

SANTALINI

Where?

(long pause)

Parking lot. The mall. Paramus.

PASQUALE slumps.

SANTALINI (CONT'D)

Recognize the car?

PASQUALE

Let me guess. Big? Black?

SANTALINI

You got it. One hour.

PASQUALE

Hey, I got to get there from Brooklyn for Chrissakes.

SANTALINI

Speed. Cop catches you, kill him.

(cackles)

Otherwise, I'll fix it.

PASQUALE

(pulls the gun from inside his coat and points it to his temple)

Big, black car. Ciao.

EXT. PARKING LOT PARAMUS MALL - DAY

PASQUALE is driving a black Crown Vic around an immense parking lot. Cars try to back into him. Tiny old ladies in blue or rose hair, fur coats and stiletto boots walk down the middle of the aisles oblivious to any cars. Skateboards from hell shoot back and forth in front of him. Slumpy teenage mall mutants meander in front of him, give him the stare and the finger. PASQUALE touches the bulge of his suit. Finally, PASQUALE sees a very dented 1930s black Packard haphazardly parked across three parking places. PASQUALE drives up and parks. Old man gets out of the Packard. SANTALINI is very frail, very decrepit looking, very small. His black fedora, black suit and white shirt are much too big as if he has shrunk while his clothes have stayed the same size. SANTALINI and PASQUALE give each other a mismatched hug.

SANTALINI

(standing back and appraising Pasquale)

Salve! Good to see you. Mio figlio.

PASQUALE

Good to see you Santa, but Jesus Christ, why here?

SANTALINI

(exasperated)

You think I like this? Driving in New Jersey? I'd rather have them play with my prostate, but you know a better place? What we do here today it ain't the movies. The movies live in Lalaland. In the movies we meet in an empty parking lot, right? You know an empty parking lot in Manhattan, one I can park this goddamn car in

(looks around)

Especially for free, you tell me. You know a phone out on the street the junkies ain't fucked up, or the cops ain't tapped, you tell me. I'll listen.

PASQUALE

Nah, nah, nah, this is good, this is fine. What's up?

SANTALINI

I'm old.

PASQUALE

Don Santa, not that old.

SANTALINI

(shrugs off the compliment)

No longer the leopard. No teeth. No claws. I know. You'll know. You'll learn. When you're young, you move from might, from strength, but, as you get older, you move from cunning, from wisdom, a sense of history. Then, as you get even older....

(resigned shrug)

You got a lot to learn. But, you learn fast. You better. When I'm gone, you know that, you're next. Courage, discipline. Me, I'm getting too old for this shit. Things got to change and I'm too old to change. This thing we do demands a lot and I spend most of my time looking for my teeth, checking to see if my batteries

(touches his ear and a spot on his chest)

are doing okay, trying to take a shit, wondering if I had to pull a trigger

(pats the bulge in his too large suit)

Whether the arthritis would let me. Jesus.

(pushes it all away)

We gotta talk. Walk with me.

SANTALINI accompanied by PASQUALE strolls regally and obliviously down the parking lot row--an old leopard.

SANTALINI (CONT'D)

You know this RICO thing?

PASQUALE

The new racketeering laws?

SANTALINI

Yeah. Big, big trouble. Now, when they catch us, they clean us. Take everything. Houses, cars, boats, jewelry, golf clubs, the soupie hanging in the attic, Rosa's Bathtub Mary, you name it, they take it. The cops are going to love this law. My watch is going end up some jamook G-man's wrist. This law? Now, the Feds, they'll never quit. Always snooping. Always watching. What a great country. This nation, this nation of laws. The law. Magnificent. I've got to admit, though, this law? I get the agita from this law. I've got a family I've got to protect. I'm gone, Rosa, what's she going to do?

(shrugs)

I think of this for a long time before I get the answer. I watch that bastardo Petey Garbanzo. Chrissakes. What's he do? Dope. Crack. And not just to the melanzana. To white kids.

(getting more agitated)

Italian kids. Wrong. Very wrong. This is a thing we families agreed never to do. Where is his honor? He has none. When you're in charge, you must watch this cafone Garbanzo. Like a snake, he will try to swallow you whole. No honor. In a nation of laws, he breaks the law, our law. So, he must pay.

PASQUALE

What? How?

SANTALINI

(cackling)

I sold a mountain of dope to his people. Except I took it back. I'll bankrupt that cugine.

PASQUALE

He'll whack you.

SANTALINI

He don't know it's me.

PASQUALE

He finds out, he'll whack you.

SANTALINI

Then he better find out fast. The IRS is bleeding me. All my chiacchierone doctors are working overtime to put the X on me. Life is killing me.

PASQUALE and SANTALINI have arrived back at the Packard. SANTALINI tries to get the trunk open, fails, and stands aside to accept PASQUALE'S help. SANTALINI reaches in and pulls out a large briefcase and thrusts it toward PASQUALE.

SANTALINI (CONT'D)

Paulgetti's money is now Rosa's money.

(shakes his hand back and forth)

It's hot. Let it cool off. Guard it from Paulgetti and the Feds. Then, grow it. Something legit. You're a smart man, compare, a man of honor. Figure out a way to keep them away from Rosa's money. Maybe, my godson

(gives PASQUALE a hard look)

The boy who used to be your son, could help. He's smart, too. When I'm gone, you could use his help. Think about it. I won't be here much longer.

(looks across the parking lot)

I can see a shadow coming for me.

PASQUALE

Don't say that. You've got a long way to go.

SANTALINI

Nah. I can tell. Not so long. You're in charge soon. You've got to be smart. Got to see things these old eyes are too blind to see. See new places and new ways for us to keep doing this thing we do. I'm the past. You're the future.

(walks to the driver's side door)

I've got a dialysis. All paid by Medicare. What a great fucking country.

(they hug)

SANTALINI drives away like a Florida retiree. Gun, brake, gun, brake. Skateboarders skitter away in terror.

EXT. SICILIAN HEAVEN CEMETERY- DAY

A casket that looks like a over-sized jewelry box is suspended over a hole. Garishly dressed men and women--big hair on both, shiny black shoes, anything but somber black dresses with six inch cleavage crowd around the grave site. Some people look mournful, many do not. There's BISHOP BIGOTTO in full regalia who is fighting off the boredom of doing a gig for the 1000th time. Two gorgeous, mysterious looking women, ( ANGELO and BRICE. ANGELO is Pasquale's gay son and BRICE is his partner)whisper to one another. DONATO, Pasquale's very fat, young nephew is coming on to IMMACULATA, a very hot overdressed but seriously underdressed young woman. IMMACULATA turns away. The casket is lowered. The crowd begins to break up. Two women, Pasquale's wife CARMINA who is in her late forties, soft and sweet and his mother-in-law NONNI, a tiny tough looking crone pushing eighty approach the BISHOP. He sees them coming and tries to turn tail.

CARMINA

Your Excellency

(she kisses his ring)

A moment, please.

BISHOP

(unctuous, but hesitant)

Mrs. ....

CARMINA

(very deferential)

I'm so sorry. I thought you might remember. Pasquale. Carmina Pasquale. Perhaps, you remember my mother?

(she waits for the Bishop's memory to kick in which doesn't happen)

Batista Volpe. She's back from Venice.

BISHOP BIGOTTi looks impressed.

NONNI

Florida Venice.

BISHOP

(nodding)

Aaaahh. Signora Volpe.

The BISHOP begins to back away. NONNI grabs his sleeve.

NONNI

(sarcastically)

Such a sad day.

BISHOP

Don Santalini was very generous to Holy Mother Church. Like a Medici. He will be missed.

CARMINA

It was wonderful to see the church so full. Like it used to be.

NONNI

Like it used to be. Like it should be. Each day, every day, it seems fewer people.

BISHOP

Times change.

BISHOP starts looking around for a means to escape. He begins walking backward and the women bird dog him.

NONNI

I was married in that church. I ran the rosary sodality for more than twenty years. Carmina grew up in that church--was baptized, made her first communion, was confirmed and married in that church.

BISHOP

(shaking his head in theatrical sadness and commiseration)

Parishes change. Confraternity of Lost Souls is a big church in what has become a small parish. An old church in a new world. Old parishioners

(ignores NONNI's hard stare)

Confraternity has become a big drain on the finances of the diocese. You, Donna Volpe, will remember I served in this parish when I was a very young priest.

(near crocodile tears, fist to breast)

It has a very special place in my heart. It's sad, very sad, but, if nothing changes, it will have to close.

BISHOP begins to pedal even faster backward well aware that he is apt to trip on his robes. The women pursue.

CARMINA

Your excellency, don't say that. Isn't there anything you can do?

BISHOP

I have little hope, but

(obviously lying)

I was thinking of assigning my nephew to the parish.

CARMINA

He's a priest?

BISHOP

A very young, but a very energetic priest, a very business-like priest. A priest with many new ideas over which we frequently fight.

CARMINA

We could use a new priest. Father Albanese

(she points to a doddering old guy who has dropped his missal and is having trouble bending over to pick it up--like an old man trying to start his legs in a pair of pants)

Is a wonderful priest, but he is tired. He deserves a rest. God's work uses us up.

NONNI stares at BISHOP's large stomach and nods.

BISHOP

(sighing)

In many ways. In many ways. My nephew might be able to help Lost Souls. He has so much energy. But, he would need help.

(unaware, he rubs his fingers together)

Lots of help.

CARMINA

He would have our help.

BISHOP

More than arranging flowers on the altar. More than ironing surplices. More than bake sales. People say that women's role in the church must change.

(disdainfully)

This would be an opportunity for women's liberation. Let us see if women can do what Santalini did for this church. Santalini, a great man, a great patriot, a Medici to Holy Mother Church. I fear he will be sorely missed.

BISHOP shakes his head and drifts away. NONNI looks around the cemetery at all of the fancy cars and clothes disapprovingly.

NONNI

Maledizione. That man. To see such a topo to have gone so far. That's a boccone amaro. He's a bad man. He looks at home here here with all of these bad men. Bad men. Bad money.

(looks around)

There's a lot of bad money here that could be used for better things than big cars and little dresses. Such a parade. Such a display. Waste. All waste. All this show for a sinner. Nothing for the church. It' s wrong. This must change.

CARMINA

Mama? What are you saying?

NONNI

La fame non vual leggi.

(subtitles; Hunger knows no law)

EXT. CEMETERY PARKING LOT.- DAY

BISHOP with fake obsequence approaches PASQUALE and PASQUALE'S exceedingly fat, exceedingly ugly, exceedingly stupid, and exceedingly vain nephew, DONATO IANELLI.

DONATO

Your honor. How you doing?

PASQUALE shows a familiar disappointment.

BISHOP

(with a cold smile corrects him)

Excellency.

DONATO

Glad to hear it. Me, too.

BISHOP extends his hand to be kissed.

DONATO (CONT'D)

(looking closely at the ring)

Nice. Big like mine.

(extends his hand so the BISHOP can see his ring and says with pride)

High school.

(considers thoughtfully)

Your excellently, I got a question.

BISHOP

What is that, my young friend?

DONATO

(sweeping his hand at the whole scene)

This is it?

BISHOP

What?

DONATO

This, this is it? This thing today, this is it?

BISHOP

Yes, of course. We're done. The service is over.

DONATO

Yeah? Well, what about if the rest of the don shows up. You know. The other ear. More fingers. Some other stuff. What is that stuff shows up? You put it in another box?

(tips a shoulder to the hole)

Open that? What?

BISHOP

(superciliously)

Yes, I can see your concerns. We would have a dilemma. Exhumation, or tertiary burial. What would you suggest?

DONATO

I don't know. Whay I asked. It's like a catholichism question. Be a good one, huh? You should send it in. That'd be great. Me in the catholichism. You get it in make sure you get my name right. They pay? They pay, you keep the money. Flowers, candles, whatever you need. On me.

BISHOP

Well, Donato, that is very generous. You certainly have proposed an interesting question. I'm just not sure of the answer. I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.

DONATO

(stunned)

Fuckin A. Don's fuckin teeth, too? I didn't know that. Nobody said nothing about his teeth. Fuckin bastards.

DONATO is totally oblivious to the effect his language is having on the BISHOP. PASQUALE, who can't take any more, grabs his nephew's shoulder.

PASQUALE

Donny, start the car,.. Get it cool. Then get you Zia Carmina and Nonni. Don't get lost chasing Immaculata.

BISHOP and PASQUALE watch DONATO leave with an exaggerated walk as if he were carrying a picnic basket between his legs. PASQUALE and the BISHOP exchange looks.

BISHOP

Not brains, obviously. Brawn?

PASQUALE

I wish. Family. Nephew.

BISHOP roars out a laugh.

PASQUALE (CONT'D)

(angrily. He's not used to be laughed at)

What?

BISHOP

Nepotism is everywhere.

PASQUALE

What's nepotism?

BISHOP

What you have here. Giving someone a job because he is family, not because he is good at it.

PASQUALE

He is family. What can I do? My blood beats in his blood.

BISHOP

Caught be our culture. Culture commands us.

Pasquale looks questioningly.

BISHOP (CONT'D)

The Irish have drink. We Italians have nepotism. Our culture makes us favor family without thinking. It's one of our grand traditions. If I remember my Latin, the root word actually comes from nephew. Nephewism.

PASQUALE

Nephewism I got.

BISHOP

(in a lower voice and more seriously)

I understand that you also may have gotten something else.

(hesitates)

A promotion?

PASQUALE studies BISHOP with a hard unblinking stare. BISHOP looks toward the burial site.

BISHOP (CONT'D)

(extending his hand)

Congratulations.

Reluctantly PASQUALE takes it.

BISHOP (CONT'D)

I hope in your new role you'll be as good to Holy Mother Church as Salvatore was. A Medici, surely a Medici.

PASQUALE gives a noncommittal shrug. BISHOP tosses a quick blessing toward the grave. PASQUALE gives a tight smile as they walk off.

PASQUALE

Tell me more about this culture thing.

EXT. SICILIAN HEAVEN CEMETERY - DAY

The two striking woman seen earlier walk slowly to the grave. ANGELO has medium length black hair, a very conservative black suit, low black pumps, and a small black hat with a veil. BRICE has long striking blond hair, high heels, a short, tight black dress and a very large Sophia Loren black hat. Both are wearing sunglasses. They hold one another in comfort. After a moment, BRICE throws a single red rose into the grave. The following conversation is done in whispers by ANGELO and a devil may care Lauren Bacall voice by BRICE.

BRICE

I love a gesture. Shall I keen?

ANGELO

No. Behave.

BRICE

I feel sorrow swelling my breast. It fills me. 'Sorrow concealed like an oven stopped doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.'

ANGELO

Shakespeare?

BRICE

You got it, lumpkin. Titus Andronicus.

IMMACULATA comes ot the edge of the grave and spits into it.

BRICE (CONT'D)

What was that?

ANGELO

Immaculata. She hated Santa.

BRICE

Obviously, but why?

ANGELO

Her dad was a soldier, a field man. He took a fall for Santa, went to Attica and was killed in the riots.

BRICE

A tragedy, but she looks like a survivor. Tough looking lady.

ANGELO

She is. I know. We grew up together. You know in high school she wanted to by my girlfriend, but my old man told me to stay away from her.

ANGELO has some memories stirred. He starts to pull away from BRICE. BRICE holds him back,

BRICE

Not yet. I must grieve.

ANGELO

Oh, come on. You didn't even know him.

BRICE

That's probably why my grief is so pure. I can't deny myself. I can no longer hold my sorrow fast.

Again, ANGELO tries to pull away.

BRICE (CONT'D)

I'd think you would want to pay your respects. After all, he was your godfather.

ANGELO

He was a thug. Worse. Much worse.

BRICE

But good to you.

ANGELO

In his way.

BRICE

I thought he said he would take care of you.

ANGELO

An old man makes many promises.

BRICE

He was a man of honor, wasn't he?

ANGELO

Ask Immaculata that. He could be cruel. He was old, forgetful. Christ, he was half nuts. Let's get out of here.

BRICE

Just a little keen, puhleeze. It's a perfect time and good practice.

A low moan begins and moves up the scale. ANGELO fidgets. The sound hits a high note. The stragglers begin to turn back and look. BRICE shudders like he's had an orgasm and is silent.

BRICE (CONT'D)

Watch my finish.

BRICE reaches into his over-sized bag and pulls out a rosary as big as a lariat.

ANGELO

(whispering fiercely)

Can't you ever get yourself off-stage?

BRICE

(fingering the beads which are as big as walnuts)

If memory serves, getting on stage is my problem.

BRICE makes the sign of the cross using the rosary cross, kisses the cross, drops it back into his purse, pulls out a small silver hand mirror, makes a moue, and applies lipstick. The two turn from the grave and walk through the dwindling crowd. ANGELO keeps his head down and avoids contact. BRICE seeks it out, smiles widely at the admiring looks from pairs and trios of HOODS hanging out, shakes his head in small regrets that he is passing by such intriguing opportunities until they get to their car.

INT. BRICE'S CAR-DAY - CONTINUOUS

BRICE (CONT'D)

Bravo. Bravissimo. You were wonderful, but, san doute, I was even better.

ANGELO

I shouldn't have let you talk me into it if someone in my family had recognized me.... what a scene. I would have ended up in a box, too. With my pumps shoved up my....

BRICE

Ooohh! Dreamy thought. But, it wouldn't have happened. We're too good. Your papa certainly looked somber.

ANGELO

He's always looked like that. Humorless.

BRICE

Who was that adjutant with him? The one who was hitting on the beautiful, but not for me, Immaculata?

ANGELO

Donny. My cousin Donny. He's had a bone on for her for years. He thinks he should be my replacement. When I came out, he went in. A real box of small rocks, but smart enough to guess that when my family got rid of their faggot son, there might be some room for him.

BRICE

Ssshhh. Give it some time.

ANGELO

How long? It's been three years since I told them. I should have kept quiet like you.

BRICE

What you did was right. What I'm doing--the lying and hiding--is wrong, but I'll make it right. I promise. I'll come out to my family when the time is right, but not right now. Right now, unfortunately, I have to get out of this very flattering chemise and get down town for an audition.

ANGELO

What's it for?

BRICE

A Mamet thing.

ANGELO

I thought you hated Mamet.

BRICE

I do, but as Willy said, 'The play's the thing.' If I want to become a star, and, oho, Tinkerbell, I do, I do, then first I have to act. This is not the time to be choosy.

ANGELO

I hope it goes okay.

BRICE

Doing Mamet? Shouldn't be a problem after hearing all of our mourners sentiments. Fuk dis, fuk dat, muddefuk dis and dat.

(holds his hand to his brow)

Oh, my, drama is dead.

ANGELO

(gesturing out the window to the remaining gunsels and the BISHOP getting into his limo)

It's not dead. It's just not in the the-a-tuh

BRICE

Drive, my man. And, Angelo, you are my man.

ANGELO

I've got to get back, too. We're priming for a big takeover. Don't expect me early. Ah, romance.

INT. PASQUALE"S CROWN VIC - DAY

NONNI and CARMINA are sitting in the back of the Crown Vic with DONATO driving and PASQUALE sitting in the passenger seat. PASQUALE is very somber. Rapid talking in Italian and much gesticulating between CARMINA and NONNI. [subtitles of what is being said run across the screen as fast as the words--the subtitles are pretty much useless] The word ANGELO surfaces a couple of times. IMMACULATA is mentioned. The don's face gets darker the longer the women's talk.

PASQUALE

For Chrissakes. What's the matter with English. Better, yet, don't even talk. This is a sad day.

CARMINA

(taken aback)

We weren't really talking. Just small talk. Convenevoli.

PASQUALE

Why Italian? You know I hate that. Look around. It's America for Chrissakes, talk American.

NONNI looks at CARMINA expectantly. CARMINA decides she fears her mother's approbation more than her husband's. She gathers her courage.

CARMINA

(sweetly)

What's wrong with you, Giacomo? Nothing's wrong with Italian. Maybe you don't like it because you don't understand it. It's my culture. With Mama back , I get to use it. Preserve my heritage, my culture. You don't use something, it gets rusty.

DONATO looks in the rear-view mirror at his aunt and makes a gesture of jerking off He laughs.

DONATO

Tell me.

CARMINA looks quizzical. PASQUALE and NONNI shake their heads in despair. NONNI says something to CARMINA in very fast Italian. ANGELO's name is mentioned.

PASQUALE?

Hey. Enough. Maybe I don't speak guinea, but there's some word I hear. A word I don't ever want to hear. You hear?

CARMINA

I can say his name. He's my son.

PASQUALE?

He's a faggot. He's nobody's son. Ever.

Another quick exchange between NONNI and CARMINA.

PASQUALE? (CONT'D)

Goddamn dumb guineas. All around me. My culture? This fuckin culture makes me crazy

(turns to Donato)

Hurry up. I got a lot of work to do.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY'S OFFICE - AFTERNOON

In the plush office of District Attorney MALCOLM FEISANT DETECTIVE FILCHE is pacing the room in agitation.

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Goddamn, Mal. Jesus, Mary, Joseph. The money's gone. Fuckin lost it. We got two years in on this operation--chasing spanics from here to Colon and we blow it. Three million bucks. Do you know the kind of grocery list you can make with three million? Gone. Goddamn. Mother of Mercy.

DA FEISANT

What happened?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

What happened? They had a meet we didn't know about. Why? Who knows? Dickhead asleep on the wiretap? Bad hardware? They're on to us? Who the fuck knows? What we hear later is they go to the meet. Show the shekels. Try the dope. Drop like rocks. When they come to, the money's gone and so's the powder that knocked them on their asses.

DA FEISANT

Who?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

What we heard off the tap was the guy who ripped them off was an old fart, Eytie. Gotta be family.

DA FEISANT

Half the mob's on social security. Who? Massolini, Abruzzi, Santalini, Nardone? Who?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Don't know. We've got to wiretap them all.

DA FEISANT

The Hooverheads will shit. That's their territory. They get guinea. We get spic. You know the rules.

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Fuck the feebs. We need that bread. Ask Judge O'Reilly. Let him know if we RICO this money, there'd be a helluva from the PBA for his run for mayor.

DA FEISANT

And mine?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Ask and he shall receive.

DA FEISANT

Only if seek and ye shall find works out, right?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Pray for us.

DA FEISANT

God helps those who help themselves.

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S OFFICE - DAY

PASQUALE is on lying on a couch in a suit. He looks very uncomfortable. DR. HAROLD APPLEBY, who is wearing Albert Einstein's hair, in distracted fashion is suggestively playing with a small Raggedy Ann doll throughout the scene. All through the scene horns honk, tires screech, buses accelerate and there are shouts in lots of different languages.

DR APPLEBY

(in a high whine)

Relax, relax. You must try to relax.

PASQUALE

(anything but relaxed)

I am.

DR APPLEBY

You look stiff.

PASQUALE

I feel like a stiff.

DR APPLEBY

Relax. Maybe open your coat better, take it off already.

(waits for PASQUALE to respond, but he does nothing)

Such a nice suit. My father, the tailor, alavasholem, he would have loved such a suit.

PASQUALE

(getting angry)

I'll keep it on.

DR APPLEBY

Please, suit your self. Unsuit yourself.

(cackles hysterically)

I don't care. Your first visit, I don't want to make a big hoo-hah with the suit.

PASQUALE twists uncomfortably on the couch and tries to re-arrange the huge bulge sticking out from under his armpit.

DR APPLEBY (CONT'D)

Oy. That must be better I can tell. Very relaxed, no? So, what is your problem?

PASQUALE

Look. I got a lot of stress. I got...what...I got a new job. Big promotion. Know what I mean? Like the president, sort of. You know, running the company.

DR APPLEBY

Congratulations. My daughter's husband, Muffy's Irwin, a big promotion just last year. Wallpaper. Has the whole East Coast now. New York to Miami. A little more stress now sure, but a career is not playing pishe-peyshe, yes? So, stress?

PASQUALE

(glad to have the ball back)

Yeah. I got a lot of stress. I'm a manager. A boss. A CEO. I'm responsible. Do what's good for the company. I got to make decisions, right?

DR APPLEBY

(interrupting)

Right, of course. My Uncle A, maybe Avram to you, publishes bibles. For years, the same old same old--Catholic or King James, leather or cloth, black or white. Then, boom, The New Word, The Living Bible, The Good News bible, every paskkudnak was writing a new bible. New bibles, new colors, new covers. You could have a product line out to here?

(extends arms wide)

Decisions. Ay-yay-ya. Lots of decisions. Poor Uncle Avram. So, decisions.

All during APPLEBY's story PASQUALE has been getting more irritated that he is being ignored.

PASQUALE

I've got to do what's good for the business. I'm, like, entrusted. But, a guy can't always do what a guy's got to do. Something's in the way. Family. Church. Other wise...other guys. The law. Tradition. Whatever. I've been reading up on this management thing, see, and culture's an important thing. Corporate culture, you know, can kill a manager. Make him a stiff. Me, already I can see that. I'm caught in my culture, like in a web. I got to change. I can see that. I got to get free, you know, so this thing...the firm can get free.

DR APPLEBY

You sound like a very responsible man

(Pasquale beams at the praise)

Mr. Pasqualick

(at the mis-pronunciation, PASQUALE's fingers twitch, like he needs something to choke)

A man who would work to free himself so that his people would be free that is a great man. Martin Luther with or without King, Gandhi, they were big men. Your board of directors must be very proud of your dedication.

PASQUALE

Yeah. Sure. Proud.

DR APPLEBY

So, your culture? Not Jewish, yes, I can tell. So. What? Let me guess. Not Syrian? No.

(carefully mispronouncing)

Pasqualick. Not Syrian. Not Honduran. Certainly not. Hmmm.

(studies PASQUALE's face)

Not Korean. Not Asian at all.

PASQUALE

(testily)

Italian.

DR APPLEBY

(smiles, nods)

Aaaahh.

PASQUALE

For Chrissakes. Italian. You know. Guinea. Wop. Guinzo. The mumbler

(does a bad Brando as Corleone imitation)

The greaseball

(slicks his hair and chews a wad of imaginary gum)

You know what I mean? A dago. A dino. A guido

(grabs his crotch)

You know? Fuckin guinea. Big car, big hair, big chains, big fucking deal. Little suit, little dress, little brains. Everybody knows what a fucking guinea is, right? I hate it. I hate people thinking I'm a guinea. As far back as I can remember, I hated that. You know. I'm not. Never was. Never ever felt like a guinea. Never acted like one. You know? You know that thing they do in the movies and on TV where every guinea says everything twice? You know that? I hate that. I'm not like that. Never was. Never. I'm not a guinea. I don't know what the fuck I am, but I'm not a guinea.

DR APPLEBY

Mr. Pasqualick, you don't have to be an Italian. In here, in this quiet place, a place of sanctuary, you can relax.

(off-screen a couple of Hispanic voices scream at each other)

Relax and find out who you are. Who knows what we will discover. Maybe, inside you're a Jew?

(he cackles and PASQUALE considers it)

Remember Sammy Davis? A very big Jew is a little shaygets body. Or, Al Jolson, You talk. I listen. Together, we'll see who you are.

INT. BISHOP BIGOTTI'S OFFICE - DAY

The BISHOP and FATHER PAULIE CAFFEINO, dressed in jackass golf clothes, come into the BISHOP's opulent office. Father PAULIE is carrying the bishop's clubs. The BISHOP takes off his golf cap, puts on his mitre, and gives himself an admiring look in the mirror. Plays the scene out with the mitre on his head which incongruous with the jackass slacks and shirt. FATHER PAULIE bounces around the room with a surfeit of energy.

BISHOP

I've found a spot for you.

FR. PAULIE

Yeah? What's the job?

BISHOP

Where I started. Lost Souls.

FR. PAULIE

I thought that place was going belly up.

BISHOP

It is.

FR. PAULIE

So, what are you thinking? A turnaround? Bring in a specialist. A cost cutter. Slash and burn guy. Or, maybe, a market guy. Re-configure the product, change the target. A guy who knows the territory. A can- do guy kind of priest.

BISHOP

(absentmindedly dragging his jeweled hands through a half dozen long-handled baskets filled with money. occasionally smells the tips go his fingers and sighs.)

Not exactly. It's a lovely church. A lovely parish

(grimaces)

Some of my sweetest memories.... But....

FR. PAULIE

I know. Nothing is constant but change. Demographics are all wrong. Channels of distribution are broken down. It's simple. The message doesn't match the market. That's it, right?

BISHOP

(vaguely)

Yes, something like that. Go out there and see what you can do. Make a credible effort. No need to move mountains.

(quietly)

I've had a developer here several times who is interested in the property.

FR. PAULIE

I got it. Nuff said. In b-school, we called it a farm problem.

BISHOP

Why that?

FR. PAULIE

(laughing conspiratorily)

Have to water the stock. No problemo.

BISHOP

I called father Anselmo. He knows you're coming. He knows he's history in two weeks. When you settle in--and don't get too settled--make sure you see and spend time with Carmina Pasquale and her mother Nonni--Mother Teresa meet Machiavelli. They want to keep the monstrosity open. Carmina's husband is in a position to be very generous to Holy Mother Church. Make those girls happy. You'll know how. Boy charm. I have faith you'll do a good job.

FR. PAULIE

Right, boss. Like they aid in school: Do a good job. Get a better job.

BISHOP shoots his nephew a sloppy little blessing.

INT. CARMINA'S CAR - DAY

CARMINA and DONNA are sitting in a car in front of a Taylor Rental store.

CARMINA

Mama, can this be right? It feels wrong. I don't think we ought to be doing this.

NONNI

Bambina, this is God's work. How can it be wrong if it's God's work? Think of what has happened. Your husband tells you about that bad man Santa's money. We know that should be God's money. It's a miracle. We looked everywhere, we found nothing. Then, in a dream, you see a big car filled with gold. That dream, that's God talking to us. C'mon, we've got God's work to do.

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - DAY

In the family garage, CARMINA and NONNI are unloading an acetylene torch, tanks of gas, power saws, cable cutters.

NONNI

Go to the house and get the clothes.

CARMINA and NONNI are dressed in mechanic's jump suits. Both have name tags. CARMINA's is designer wear, NONNI's is plain black. A la French Connection, they begin using the tools to tear the car apart. CARMINA opens the trunk and pulls out a violin case, then a viola case, then a cello case.

CARMINA

(putting the cases aside)

Guns. Guns. Guns. Nothing but guns. Where's the money?

She pulls a huge tire out and slashes it with a reciprocating saw, reaches in, fumbles around, but finds nothing.

CARMINA (CONT'D)

Where is it?

Later, the WOMEN are sitting on the slashed tire. They are exhausted. Seats are out of the car. Motor hangs from a portable winch. Stuffing is everywhere.

CARMINA (CONT'D)

It's not here. We've looked everywhere. Look at this mess. We better clean up. I've got to get going. I've got veal to pound and gnocchi to make.

NONNI

It's here. It's got to be here. I can feel it.

CARMINA

(shaking her head)

It was just a dream. A dream about a dream.

NONNI

We must have missed something

CARMINA and NONNI look at each other and the light come on. They rush to the music cases. CARMINA opens the smallest case. It contains a violin. She holds it to her shoulder and looks for the trigger. NONNI opens the viola case and it holds a viola. They struggle with the cello case, open it, and find a life size doll of Jimmy Hoffa

NONNI (CONT'D)

La maledizione.

They slump back down on the tire in defeat.

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - AFTERNOON

NONNI and CARMINA are finishing up putting the car back together. CARMINA is busy repairing the slashed tire with white glue and electrician's tape. She shows her work to NONNI.

NONNI

Looks fine. What else?

CARMINA puts an imaginary gun to her shoulder, turns it into a violin, saws a few bars as she hums sadly, smiles ruefully. They pick up the music cases and put them back in the trunk.

NONNI (CONT'D)

(pointing to a dozen leftover pieces of the car)

What about the whatchamacallits?

CARMINA

I'll get the broom.

CARMINA opens the utility closet and pulls out a broom. She looks back in.

CARMINA (CONT'D)

Where's the dustpan?

NONNI

It's in there.

CARMINA pulls out a a a bucket of saws, tongs and other tools that could be used for torture and dismemberment, another JIMMY HOFFA doll, a large briefcase and, finally, a large dust pan. CARMINA returns to the car and begins to sweep up the extra parts. While CARMINA methodically sweeps, a bored NONNI wanders around. She spies the briefcase, opens it and a mountain of cash spills out.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - DAY

A white hot angry PASQUALE is on the phone. On the other end is VINNY CORNICCI, a snappy dressing bullshitter car salesman.

PASQUALE

Vinny. I have a big problem.

VINNY

Don PASQUALE, your problem is my problem What is this problem?

PASQUALE

Fucking car you sold me don't run right. I wait, what, six months for this fucking car and it don't run right. Left me on the Cross Bronx. I had to wait an hour in an eggplant patch to wait for a tow. I'm not happy.

VINNY

You should have called.

PASQUALE

I did. Someone picks up the phone and music comes on and that was it.

VINNY

Jesus Christ, I'm on my way. I'll fix it right away.

PASQUALE

You better. Or you'll need the best surgeon to fix you. Without a car I'm about as a useful as a whore with lockjaw.

INT. DISCO GYM. - NIGHT

A Saturday Night Live disco-themed gym with lots of equipment and lots of mirrors including a mirrored spinning ball and strobe lights. DONATO is in a muscle tee, bicycle pants, huge sneakers, Walkman, and jewelry. He preens, approaches the treadmill, stretches out in a way that looks more like a grand mal seizure, adjusts his sweat bands, ogles himself and all the cute gym bunnies walking by. Mounts the treadmill, bang some buttons. The treadmill starts moving and then moving faster and faster. Surprisingly, DONATO keeps up. He's running fast. Everything is jiggling. He's in cruise heaven. His hands keep time to the music. He mouths the words. Every once in awhile, he gives a little bunny hop. Music heaven. Two sinister looking PETEY GARBANZO HOODS(GH1&2) walk up. DONATO doesn't notice. He's in the groove. GARBANZOS start talking to DONATO and, with no response, talk louder and louder. No response. GH1 flicks a knife open. GH2 stops him. GH1 grabs DONATO by the chains from the back. In surprise, DONATO shoots off the back of the treadmill at MACH1 speed, but sticks the dismount perfectly, like a huge Olga Korbut. Looks around angrily.

GHH1

(gestures up and down DONATO)

What a specimen.

GH2

Is, muy magnifico hombre.

DONATO

What do you beanbags want?

GH1

(showing his knife)

Maybe your cojones.

DONATO

You'll have to wait, faggots.

(gestures toward the gym bunnies)

There's a line.

GH2

We can wait, gordo. Just not too long. Your uncle has something that's ours. A big something. We want it back.

DONATO

So ask him.

GH1

He might not remember it's ours.

(becomes professorial)

We don't want to become encumbered in protracted negotiations. That can cause problems with the employees.

(slashes the knife back and forth just in front of DONATO's belly. DONATO doesn't flinch)

We want you to get it back for us.

DONATO

What is this property?

GH2

Three million dollars

(DONATO's eyes light up)

Santalini stole it from us. We're sure your uncle has it. You're going to get it back for us.

DONATO

Why would I do that?

GH1

(jabbing his knife toward DONATO's crotch)

Maybe so the gordo's jewels stay in the jewel case.

DONATO

(pointing the Walkman at the HISPANICS like it is a pistol)

What about your jewelry, you fucking chili-shitters. Get out of here.

GHI starts to stab DONATO, but GH2 holds him back and pulls him toward the door. DONATO looking smug, gets back on the treadmill, goes full tilt for ten seconds, talks to himself, waves the Walkman gun around shooting imaginary enemies, stops running, shoots off the back of the treadmill and, again,gracefully lands the dismount.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - DAY

Opened computer boxes are strew about. PASQUALE is holding a cord and looking at a user manual. He keeps looking from the cord in his hand to the book. Tentatively starts to plug in a cord to the back of a CPU obviously expecting something to blow up or catch on fire. The cord doesn't fit. He looks very frustrated. Knock

PASQUALE

Yeah, yeah.

IMMACULATA enters. all-leather Madonna. She gives PASQUALE a little dip that is a combination of obeisance and a cleavage shot.

IMMACULATA

Don Pasquale. The street sings with your changes in this thing you do. I look around this room and I see why. I see a Caesar in his

(falters)

Salad.

IMMACULATA gives a big phony ingratiating smile. PASQUALE is still fussing with trying to connect a 16 pin plug into something, anything--he does that throughout the scene in a distracted manner.

PASQUALE

Your words sing to me, Immaculata, but why are you here? What can I do for you?

IMMACULATA

I hear the street sing, but, Don Pasquale, I also hear mutterings. Change is not for everyone.

PASQUALE

(contemplatively)

Some prefer the fish to the fishing pole.

IMMACULATA

Me, I like change. Shoes, clothes, hair, nails, boys....

PASQUALE

You are like mercury in an old man's cup

IMMACULATA

I like change. Change channels. Change perfumes.

PASQUALE

(snaps)

I hear. I hear. Chrissakes, c'mon. What do you want? You think I can keep making up these aphorisms all day long? What?

IMMACULATA

This thing you do could be done better with someone who welcomes change.

PASQUALE

(recovering)

What you say is true, Immaculata. I myself believe it, but I myself am

(thinks hard)

Like the engine of a train. I may be strong, but I can only go where the tracks allow. This thing we do it done by men, not women. There is nothing you can bring me, but trouble. You have nothing for me and I can do nothing for you to change the tracks. You've got to to accept that.

IMMACULATA

(eyes glittering, threatening)

Sometimes the engine leads and the cars don't follow. And many injuries line the tracks.

PASQUALE

(from cold to hot)

Immaculata, I've always liked you. I had respect for your father and, buon'anima, grieved his end. I want to help you. Ask me something I can do and I will do it. But, woman or not, never ever threaten me. Now, get out.

IMMACULATA storms off. PASQUALE slams the computer links together.

INT. GARBANZO HOODS CAR - NIGHT

The GARBANZO HOODS are driving across the Bronx. Scene from hell. Fires in the street and buildings. People being shot. Crazy people herding their belongings in grocery carts. In front of a burning church an oblivious junkie slumps against a fire hydrant while two firemen connect a hose and turn it on. Fierce spray hits the junkie, but he remains immobile. The GARBANZOS car is a low rider and with every bump in the street, Gh1 and GH2's heads hit the ceiling of the car. HH2 is trying to light a blunt but all the car's suspension action keeps him from lining up the match and the weed.

GH1

That dago pin-prick. Too stupid to scare.

GH2

We've got a problemo now. He's probably telling Pasquale right now. Now, if we hit him, they know who did it.

GH1

So. Who gives a shit?

GH2

(giving up on getting the thing lit, he shoves the joint in his mouth and starts chewing)

It's family. We hit a guinea family, they all come after us with everything they've got. We're not big enough to win that war. Not yet.

GH1

Yeah, maybe so. But if we don't get those dolaros back, our family could be sending us on a long vacation.

GH2

We have to go slow.

GH1

It better be fast slow.

GH2

(swallowing the last of the joint)

Maybe I'm getting an idea.

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - NIGHT

GH1 and GH2 using a set of tools like NONNI and CARMINA's are tearing PASQUALE's car apart.

EXT. TRI-BOROUGH BRIDGE - AFTERNOON

PASQUALE's car is stopped just before the bridge toll booths. There is a major traffic jam. DRIVERS are screaming at him and giving him the finger, throwing coffee at him. Horns are blaring. PASQUALE is next to the tollbooth hanging on to a phone talking to VINNY. He is vibrating with anger.

PASQUALE

Vin, how long have we known each other?

VINNY

Don, what are you asking?

PASQUALE

This fucking car you sold me just shit the fucking bucket on the fucking Tri-borough Bridge. I'm standing here admiring the skyline while people are spitting on me.

VINNY

Don't say that. I had my best man fix that car.

PASQUALE

You better get better or you won't die in bed.

PASQUALE hands the phone back to the toll booth worker along with a $100 bill. A step truck squeezes by and the driver throws a White Castle bag at PASQUALE.

TRUCK DRIVER

You putz.

PASQUALE reaches in his coat for his gun, but makes himself stop short.

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S OFFICE - DAY

DR. APPLEBY sits in his chair. His brother, MORT APPLE, a Broadway producer, is on the couch.

DR APPLEBY

Feeling no better?

MORT

How can I feel better? I'm dying.

DR APPLEBY

You're not dying.

MORT

I'm in here, yes? This to me is dying. My whole life I never had time for this dreck. I had vehicles to find. Options to get. Directors to kvetch over. Actors to schmooze. Bankers. Ladies with blue hair to here to open the purse. Tickets to sell. Theaters to fill. Now, what have I got to fill? Nothing but my time. Doing bubkes. Talking like a farfuketer on this terrible couch.

(slaps the couch)

You can't go to Conran's and buy something nice? Feh, tell me I'm not dying.

DR APPLEBY

I will. Again. You're not. It's a lull. A break. Maybe a little time for rest, or, who knows, even reflection I have a new patient what is filled with worries. You know why? Because he's got what you don't. Too much to do. A million things, but just two hands.

MORT

Show me this man. I'll trade in a minute. If I'm going to retire, I'll do it in Miami, not Manhattan.

DR APPLEBY

Mort, take it easy. You know what Freud would say.

MORT

Freud, smued. I've got to get a vehicle. I've got to get some money. I my brain I'm dying and in my wallet, I'm starving. I had to act the k'nocker. I'm right. Can't be wrong. Fine, that's fine. Okay be wrong when it's someone else's gelt. I lost everything in that musical. Son of Sam. You laugh. Who knew. They loved Sweeney Todd. Twelve hundred performances loved. So, I ask myself, why not Son of Sam? I think who goes to the theater? Jews, that's who. Who was Berkowitz? A Jew. Maybe the first Jewish serial killer. What could be hotter? I'll tell you. Not just a Jew, not just the first Jewish serial killer, but to top it off, a New York, Jewish serial killer. What could be better? Back and forth I schlep to Attica. I make friends. I get the rights. I get a writer. I get a score. I get a dog what sings. I get hot. I think I got everything going my way. Except backing. No one wants to hold out money. Me, I'm so smart. I say you are wrong. I forget a producer's first rule. Never use your own money. What a schlemiel. The Song of the Son of Sam closes in two days. I get poor. Moira says nothing--just pulls the Pullman from the closet and off she goes. This has got to stop. I've got to get some money.

DR APPLEBY

Forget it with the money. You've got to get a winner before you need the money.

MORT frowns.

DR APPLEBY (CONT'D)

As your therapist, I'll tell you....

MORT

As my therapist, you tell me $67.50. Even at half-price it's too much. So

(he sits up)

As my older brother, tell me. What? What should I do?

DR APPLEBY

As your brother

(takes a long pause to think)

As your brother, definitely get a vehicle.

MORT

Thanks a lot.

DR APPLEBY

How much is a lot?

MORT

(getting up from the couch and heading to the door)

I'll let you know. >

INT. PASQUALE KITCHEN - AFTERNOON

CARMINA and NONNI are in the kitchen making pasta . Muscles are straining as they roll out the dough. Kitchen Titanesses.

CARMINA

Did you like him, Mama?

NONNI

That boy would sell you the moon and the well

(subtitle that phrase into Italian)

Fugazi.

CARMINA

We shouldn't have given him the money?

NONNI

No. I'm glad we did. You got to have somebody like that. He's an incorragiamento

(subtitle:shot in the arm)

NONNI cackles as she gives CARMINA a shot in the arm. Flour flies.

NONNI (CONT'D)

He's got brains, energy and, now,

(cackles again)

The benzina to make them go.

CARMINA

(laughing nervously)

Yeah, sure, Mama.

DONATO starts to come around a corner into the kitchen, but stops and listens.

CARMINA (CONT'D)

But, what happens when Giacomo finds out the money is gone? When I think about that I get molto spaventato.

(scared stiff).)

He's such an angry man.

NONNI

Forget that man. Was it ever his money? No. He got it from facia bruta Santa. Santa stole it from that crook Garbanzo. Garbanzo got it from the old men who gave it to the prostituta or from bambinos for drugs to make themselves oobatz. All that bad money has got a good home now. That's what God wants. When your sposo finds the money is gone, he'll think Garbanzo took it back.

(when CARMINA starts to interrupt, NONNI smooths the waters with her hands and sprays flour everywhere)

Enough. Enough. He won't start a war over something that never was his. Let Santa's vedova wear rags. It would do her good.

CARMINA

(reassured)

Father Paulie was like a little boy in the bath the way he splashed around in all that money.

NONNI

Three million dollars makes a lot of bubbles.

DONATO, his eyes gleaming, nods. He slides away.

INT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - DAY

A SERIES of QUICK SHOTS

FATHER PAULIE is walking around the church tapping columns, picking through vestments, shaking his head at how decrepit everything is. He stands in the middle of the church and uses his hands to frame various shots of the altar.

FATHER PAULIE making phone calls.

A van with the logo Mobile Marketing, Inc We Focus on Focus Groups on its side pulls up in front of the church. INTERVIEWERS and FATHER PAULIE are pulling people off the street to conduct interviews. Most of those selected are heavy urban- rastas, hiphoppers, bling artists, rappers, Hasid, pimps, guidos, whores. We hear blips of conversations.

VARIOUS INTERVIEWEES

It'd take a muthahfukkin miracle to get me in no church. Church is dead, man, the street's alive. Bamptism is all I need I got washed clean onceandferall. Yo rap sucks, don't even rhyme. Yo music sucks. Man, yo clothes really suck. Looka watch you got on. Won't be caught dead in threads like that.

INT. FATHER PAULIE'S OFFICE - NIGHT

Father PAULIE's office looks like a down-scale version of PASQUALE's. Computer, printouts, sit on a card table. The room is strewn with blueprints, wall paper samples, swatches of cloth, catalogs. FATHER PAULIE is on the phone.

FR. PAULIE

Hey. Hi. Name's Father Paulie Caffeino. Yeah, with an ie. I'm hoping you can help. I've been given a beat-to-pieces parish. Confraternity of Lost Souls. Yeah, tell me. New York. Brooklyn. Old. Tired. Transitional area. Bad demographics. Definite turn-around potential, but.... I've got research, soft, yes, but still, that suggests the natives got an unmet need for beaconship. They need a guiding light, a hero. Here's what I got. Neighborhood is 7% Italian, 68% black, 14% Hispanic, yeah, all kinds, you name and 11% other. Huh? What other other is there in New York than Jews? For me to have a decent shot at turning this thing around, I think I've got to go black. What have you got in inventory?

INT. VATICAN CELLAR - MORNING

The Vat-Rel operation looks like a plumbing supply store. Unshaved MONK with the sleeves of his habit pushed up over his elbows, Christian tats on big arms, shelf after steel shelf of skulls and bones behind him. MONK stares at a computer screen, punches keys, more staring.

MONK

Melanzana. Wouldn't you know.

FR. PAULIE

Hey, this is long distance.

MONK

Hey back at you. I'm not a baker. These aren't cookies. I don't just cut them out. Hang on to your beads. Okay. Okay. One left. St. Afro Halo.

FR. PAULIE

Sounds promising. What's the back story?

MONK

(punching his keyboard)

Let me see...let me see. Oh, yeah. I remember this guy. Wrote up big in the Vatican Rag. Couple of goodfellas taking down a bank. Cops cruise by. See the action. Wiseguys take the Halo guy hostage. Walk him out. Weighed four hundred plus. Big enough black to be on a sitcom. Big enough to hide a couple of jamooks. Cops couldn't get a shot off. Wiseguys got away.

FR. PAULIE

What happened to Halo?

MONK

Nothing.

FR. PAULIE

I don't get it. Why's he a saint?

MONK

Wiseguys were Italian.

FR. PAULIE

Gotcha. But if nothing happened ot Halo how come there are relics?

MONK

Up on a stage getting a citation from the Sons of Italy. His weight? Stage gave way. Capiche? That's the tale. What do you want?

FR. PAULIE

What are my options?

MONK

You name it. Skull. Skull plus. Tibias and fibias. Digits and widgets. The whole shooting match. Your call.

FR. PAULIE

How much for the whole package?

MONK

The shooting match. Hang on. I got to check the exchange rate. It's been bouncing.

(bangs keyboard)

C'mon, mama, talk to baby. Hey, hey. Your lucky day. Halo's all your for, drum roll, $403786 beans.

FR. PAULIE

(shocked at the price)

Jesus Christ.

MONK

(enjoying a frequent joke)

That would be more, my friend. A lot more. And it takes some time. Halo I can ship today.

FR. PAULIE

Who eats the shipping?

MONK

We do.

FR. PAULIE

Surface or air?

MONK

(sarcastically)

Air, sure. Dream on, padre. What you think you're buying, an angel?

FR. PAULIE

I need this guy yesterday.

MONK

Then my advice would be to pay the freight.

FR. PAULIE

I'm afraid to ask.

MONK

(as he bangs on the keyboard)

Remember, this was a big guy.

(waits)

C'mon Mama, give it up. Okay, here we go. $8775 in your coin.

FR. PAULIE

(heartsick at the cost)

When do I get him?

MONK

You wire the funds. We ship the moment we confirm the wire. Halo's in Kennedy in twelve, fifteen hours.

FR. PAULIE

Tariff?

MONK

Is yours a Catholic country? Of course, tariff.

FR. PAULIE

Any loopholes. What about he comes disassembled? Like a Toyota truck. Any break there?

MONK

Forget about it. We don't have the same yank the squinks do.

FR. PAULIE

Okay. Deal.

MONK

You need anything else, you ask for Alonzo. Looking ahead, I think we're going to be getting a lot of Croat and, maybe, some Slovene product. You order rely, you get a discount.

FR. PAULIE

That sounds more like Pittsburgh or Chicago taste.

MONK

What do I know. Look, Father Paulie, I hope you get the pop from St. Halo you're looking for.

FR. PAULIE

So do I.

MONK

You have a nice diem.

INT. ISLES OF CAPRIS RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Large back room of a restaurant staffed with large waitresses dressed in small Capri pants. Half-full platters of sausages, peppers, meatballs, mounds of clam shells, platters of pasta, and wine bottles litter a long table. PASQUALE sits at the head of the table of HOODS looking uncomfortable.

HOOD1

(standing up and motioning for silence)

A toast. A toast. To our new boss to Don Pasquale.

PASQUALE

(trying to quiet the cheering)

No. Please. Quiet. A toast to Don Santalini. A wonderful man. A great man. A man we will greatly miss.

MOB

Yo. Yo. Fucking A.

PASQUALE

But.... this thing we're a part of, this life of respect and honor. We're closer than brothers. I've been reading and thinking a lot about this thing we do.

(picks up a book from the table and his voice rises in enthusiasm)

We are a family, but also we are a business. We are a family of businesses. We are

(pauses dramatically)

A conglomerate. We are a collection of synergistic businesses, an interweaving of strategic economic units

(he sees his audience is clueless so he talks even louder)

This family of businesses is no safer from change than any other business. We are living in a world of rapid change. To stay successful, we need to respond to change. Not reactively, but pro-actively. We need to develop- a strategic plan.

(shaking the book at them like a Bible Belt preacher)

We need to analyze our target markets, our product lines, our cost structures, our contribution margins, our marketing, and the development of our capital base. Everyfuckingthing. We need to be aware of the risks and threats to our old businesses and the opportunities from new businesses. We need to examine everything we do and can do. Today, I'm announcing the formation of a committee to bring this thing we do into a strategic alignment with the dynamic world of which we must be a part.

Very polite applause and a Darwinian grab for the cannoli as they are passed.

INT. BRICE AND ANGELO'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

ANGELO is having a drink and tapping at a computer. Looks at watch, fusses with computer, looks back at watch. BRICE flies through the door, gives ANGELO a peck on the top of his head, throws himself into a chair, kicks his shoes across the room, and begins to knead his feet.

BRICE

What a day. What a day.

ANGELO

How was the audition?

BRICE

Wonderful. Wonderful. Just smashing. I don't know how there could have been a single soul left on the streets of our fair city. Seemingly the whole city wants on stage. Hers and hordes. Heroes and whores and he-men. The teenie-weenie drill sergeant part in the musical about Elvis being in the army that I was going for? On stage. At least sixty of us doing step, step, turn and kick. What chance is there for real talent to show in such a mob? Look

(he reaches into a bag and pulls out fuchsia tights and a black and silver tee)

What more can I do? I can't just wear neon. As it was I had to hamstring three benighted souls just to get me cute ass into the second row. Believe me, I ogled everything that moved--director, AD, choreographer, each and very stage hand, male and, here's a sacrifice for my craft, female and was dismissed with a ....

(effects the slightest of dismissive nods)

Such anguish. My heart broke. My crest fell. I wandered out into what passes for sun light in this cold, hard town, looking for something, anything, to staunch my wounds

ANGELO

Kraut dog?

BRICE

(pleased at ANGELO's insight)

Oh, sweetness, you know my soul. My soul repaired, my souls repaired to the Performer's Loft to try out for that version of Midsummer's Night they're doing. Quelle scandale. Puck is going to be a cocaine dealer. I played him a tad more like Uncle Will wrote him. More's the pity for I shan't be called back. Then off again for another teenie thing. The teeniest thing. It was so teeny that I was surprised beyond my Pollyannish capacity for belief that there was anyone there other than my cuteness. My God, two days work on As the Turd Whirls? Who could possibly want to go on one day and be raped and murdered the next. At least, forty other equally failed thespians as myself, that's fucking who. I can see it now, when my soul finally flags and my courage fails me, I'll take a cab to the GW Bridge, step out to make my final exit and find I'm in queue. Some oafish lout will chime, "Take a number, honey. Wait your turn."

(dives his hand into the water three times)

Plosh. Plosh. Plosh. "Next, please. Stay in line, girls." Plosh, plosh

(falls out of his chair and onto his knees, grabs his breast and)

Angel, my friend, my muse, my love, my soul withers. I must act, or I must die.

(he writhes and dies)

Next, please. Hurry up, girls.

ANGELO

Does your soul sickness allow for dinner?

BRICE

(popping his head up)

Was Camille anorexic? It's only my soul that is withering. The rest of me is absolutely famished.

INT. BRICE AND ANGELO'S KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

A small, orderly kitchen. As they prepare dinner, they exchange small affections.

BRICE

How's work in the larger theataaaah?

ANGELO

We're trying to put together an offering statement for a start-up that's done some promising things with genetic engineering. They're grown something that can eat the sludge out of sewers.

BRICE

What's new? Anyone who's ever lived in a dorm has done that.

ANGELO

Talking to him, it hits me that the guy who owns it lived in our dorm. He was a senior when we were freshmen. Fansworth. Emerick Fansworth. Remember him?

BRICE

I do. I do. I knew him at Choate before Harvard. As I remember he had better biceps than brains. That doesn't seem the science type.

ANGELO

He isn't. He's the Harvard man who buys the MIT types.

BRICE

(knocking off Long John Silver)

Aaahoo, shiver me timbers. Capitalism it's called, ain't it, matey?

ANGELO

Aye, it is.

BRICE

(thoughtfully)

I could have used a bit more of it in my blood, I suppose. Genetic engineering. How does a genetic pool of nothing but Yankee industrialists and bankers produce an unemployed ponce actor? If I had a little more capitalism in me, I could raise the money to produce a show of which my cuteness is worthy.

ANGELO

(interested, considering)

What would that be?

BRICE

Let's see. Something large. The theataaah should be large. Look at Nonky Will--Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, the Henry's--all large characters.

ANGELO

Falstaff.

BRICE

(chidingly)

No mockery. Falstaff was large in more than girth. The theataah needs fewer small characters, the Stanley kowalskis and Willie Lomans, and more big characters, good or bad, big like, hmmm, Gandhi, Churchill, Hitler, Ho, Mao, Stalin, hmmm, bad seems to be winning, FDR.

ANGELO

McGovern, Anderson, Carter, Ford. We're in an era of smallness.

BRICE

You're right except for Imelda Marcos, they're all small. But, we need to push back against that smallness and I think the theataaah can lead the way

(grabs a ladle, breaks into the Marseillaise and marches around the kitchen)

ANGELO

(resigned)

We've shrunk.. for years. Things pile up. The weight piles on. Assassinations. Vietnam. Oil embargo. Inflation. Hostages. They've all combined to make us feel small, look small, and make our leaders act small.

BRICE

It can't go on. We need someone or something to remind us of what we can do.

(ponders, then bangs the ladle on the counter)

I've got it. Ready? Sunrise at Campobello.

ANGELO

What is that?

BRICE

Oh my God. Pack my bags. I'm gone from this Philistine. Ralph Bellamy playing FDR with polio scootching up the stairs? Greer Garson as Eleanor. Really, no? We'll rent it. You'll see.

ANGELO

Sounds like a stretch.

BRICE

(pouting)

I can't even get a decent tryout in my own home.

ANGELO

Just being my cold rational self.

BRICE

My fault for falling in love with an investment banker. Please, don't think art. I'll do that. You think money. Your good at that.

(imitates Joel Grey in cabaret)

'Money, money, money, money.

ANGELO

And what does the theataah cost these days?

BRICE

Oodles.

ANGELO

That's a number I can work with. I go to a client. 'How'd you like to invest in the theater?' How much? Oodles. Done.' We shake.

BRICE

You're right. Rich people with money would never invest in a play about FDR. He took their money away. So how 'bout the rich who didn't have their money taken away?

ANGELO

(knowing what is coming and not wanting to hear it)

Meaning?

BRICE

Excuse a vulture, but wasn't your godfather supposed to leave you something?

ANGELO

Yes.

BRICE

A lot, wasn't it?

ANGELO

He said I'd be surprised.

BRICE

Well, he's passed beyond, at least most of him, so wheah's the fukkin dough? Has the will been read?

ANGELO

There may not exactly be a will.

BRICE

Oh, right. Godpapa wasn't exactly a Dillon Read, First Boston, U.S. Trust kind of guy. So, has the mattress, trunk, coffin, garbage bag or whatever the usual repository is been opened?

ANGELO

(darkening)

How would I know? Leave it alone, Brice. I'm frozen, remember? As far as my family is concerned, I'm dead. Santa was the only person who didn't care whether I was a fag or not.

BRICE

(comfortingly, tenderly)

Sssshhh. You're not a fag. You're a homophile or, at most, a person of gay extraction. If anyone around here is a gag, it is I. my right, my role, my fondest regret.

ANGELO

You still have your family.

BRICE

Such as it it. Mama--Beefeaters and bridge. Papa--Glenlivet and golf. Angel, if I came out to my family like you did to yours, the result would be the same. Into the cold. Beyond the Pale.

ANGELO

Given how you act around them, I don't understand how they've never guessed.

BRICE

Now you reveal your sordid upbringing. You don't understand social, and I mean social as in Social register, Darwinism. The true male blue-blood in his desperate quest to ape his English forebears ends up more homophile than Anglophile. Which makes it quite nice for us blue-blood fags. Think about it. What big difference is there between a William Buckley and Liberace? A few sequins and Bill probably noodles on an upright. Everything else, Siamese twins.

INT. DISCOTHEQUE - NIGHT

A sweaty DONATO comes off the small dance floor and shebops to the bar where IMAMCULATA is seated. He is dressed in tight black pants, rayon shirt open to the waist, chains, scarf around the neck and Beatle boots. She is in a yard of hair, a foot of cleavage, inches of red spandex and legs up to her ass.

DONATO

Yo.

IMMACULATA

Yo.

DONATO

(nearly falling into her cleavage)

Looking for love?

IMMACULATA

(staring down DONATO"S extensive cleavage)

Don't need to look. It always seems to find me.

DONATO

Been a long time since I seen you.

IMMACULATA

Yeah? Doesn't seem that long to me. Still out at Kennedy heisting freight?

DONATO

(insulted)

Fuck no. Moved up. Working with my uncle.

IMMACULATA

(dismissively)

It's a great opportunity for you, Donny, I'm sure.

DONATO

Want to dance?

IMMACULATA

Sorry, Donny.

(looks down at his feet)

No insurance.

DONATO

Bitch.

IMMACULATA

Hey, Donny, save it. We all got to make a living. I can't afford no injuries to my personal self, you know?

DONATO

You hang with me, you'd have any kind of living you want.

IMMACULATA

Yeah, Donny? Doing what? Taking the bus to Ossining to play pittypat with you through the bars? C'mon. You're a two bit hood, and always will be, and, these days, if case you didn't notice, two bits spends fast.

DONATO

You'll see.

IMMACULATA

What?

DONATO

Can't say.

IMMACULATA

(laughing)

Oooh, man of mystery. I'm like totally intrigued. What? You got a main chance at some TVs, VCRs? What? No? Shoes?

(waggling a leg)

You know I like shoes, Donny. What?

DONATO says nothing. He looks at IMAMCULATA's's smirk, then, down her dress again. He considers and makes his decision.

DONATO

I'll tell you, but it is an absolute secret.

IMMACULATA

(laughs again)

My lips are sealed. Except for you know

(she slides a long red fingernail in and out of her mouth)

What?

DONATO

I know where there's a lot of money.

IMMACULATA

Me, too. Atlantic City.

DONATO

(insisting)

A lot of money.

IMMACULATA

How much?

DONATO

Three million.

IMMACULATA

(getting interested)

Where is it?

DONATO

(pleased with his wit)

It's kinda like in the hands of God.

IMMACULATA

Those are hungry hands.

DONATO

Mine are hungrier.

IMMACULATA

(reaching her hands inside DONATO's shirt)

I can feel mine getting hungrier, too.

DONATO

(leers and moves forward)

Hungry hands.

IMMACULATA

(pushing him back)

I see how you do, you'll see how I do.

(grabs his hand and licks the tip of his pinky)

OK?

INT. INVESTMENT BANK OFFICE - DAY

IMMACULATA, channeling Abbe Lane, walks across an office active with sharp-suited men and women taking her time as folks stare. She makes her way to a windowed office, looks, and sees ANGELO talking on the phone. She leans forward, kisses the glass and leaves a perfect bright red kiss. After pulling herself out of sight, she uses a long red nail to tap on the glass. ANGELO looks at the kiss and the nail, shakes his head and comes to the door.

ANGELO

Hi, Immaculata. How are you doing?

IMMACULATA gives ANGELO a very long kiss and tight hug before stepping back to give ANGELO the view.

IMMACULATA

Doing good. Surprised to see me?

ANGELO

Very much.

IMMACULATA

(points to the lipstick on the glass)

You couldn't guess?

ANGELO

I had a guess, but wasn't sure.

IMMACULATA

Break my heart

(she fumbles with her breast)

I know it's in here somewhere.

ANGELO

I don't doubt it. What can I do for you?

IMMACULATA

I've got a proposition.

ANGELO

(laughs)

You've been propositioning me since I was what? Twelve? Thirteen?

IMMACULATA

I hear persistence pays off.

ANGELO

Come on in.

INT. ANGELO'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

As ANGELO escorts IMMACULATA through the doorway, she brushes against him hard and shows a lot of leg when she sits. Everything in the office is hard angles, stainless steel, black leather and glass.

IMMACULATA

You heard about your godfather, right? Had some problems.

ANGELO

(coldly)

I heard.

IMMACULATA

Didn't see you at the funeral. How come? Still screwed up with your family?

ANGELO

Yes.

IMMACULATA

Because of your boyfriend?

ANGELO

Yes.

IMMACULATA

You should let me put you back in the closet.

ANGELO

If anyone could, I'm sure it would be you.

IMMACULATA

(pleased at the compliment)

Really? So. Your old man, the new don, is still pissed at you. Still has you cut off from everybody? Still has the orders going? Stay out of the neighborhood? Forget family? Forget friends? What about the church? Same thing? Hell-bound fag?

ANGELO

(sullen)

Same thing.

IMMACULATA

So, you lost everybody. But me.

ANGELO

(nods)

And Santa.

IMMACULATA

I heard that. You and Santa stayed tight. Funny, huh? An old country guinea like that didn't care. But, Santa's gone, so that just leaves you and me. And maybe a big Band-Aid for the pain.

ANGELO

(in banker mode)

I'm listening.

IMMACULATA

Way I hear it, right at the last minute, Santa put a lot of dough in your old man's hands. Someone--I'm guessing your near saint Nonni--stole it and gave it to the church. Lost Souls. Same church what told fags to fuck off. Probably because it means more tang for them. Anyway, there's a new priest, cute, there at Lost Souls. Fat Donny's planning on stealing the dough from the priest. He's going to use it to buy my undying love. Take a lot of spandulies to do that. Me, I figure maybe you and me, we're lost souls, right, are more deserving. You and me team up. Find it, take it, split it.

ANGELO

Why pick me?

IMMACULATA

Win your undying love.

ANGELO

It's a tempting thought, but I'm not really into theft.

IMMACULATA

(eyes going big in disbelief)

What the fuck? Look around, Angel. What's all this shit? Don't tell me. You're a thief, just in a tie.

(has an idea)

Hey, if it bothers you, don't think of it as theft.

ANGELO

Then what?

IMMACULATA

Sicilian's dream. Revenge. Vendetta.

IMMACULATA sticks out her hand.

IMMACULATA (CONT'D)

Deal, Siciliano?

THEY shake.

INT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - NIGHT

ANGELO and IMMACULATA skulk around the church like cat burglars. IMMACULATA is dressed like Catwoman.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY'S OFFICE - DAY

DETECTIVE FILCHE

I think we got something. It looks like it was Santalini.

DA FEISANT

Is that why he ended up in piecesø

DETECTIVE FILCHE

That's the story. So, we figure since he was in pieces that he kept his mouth shut. Our best guess is that the new guy, Pasquale, probably has the money.

DA FEISANT

What are you going to do?

DETECTIVE FILCHE

Take a look.

DA FEISANT

Take a good look.

DETECTIVE FILCHE

That's the plan.

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - NIGHT

COPS, including DETECTIVE FILCHE, are tearing Pasquale's car apart.

INT. PASQUALE'S BATHROOM - AFTERNOON

PASQUALE has on a gorgeous suit which is covered in coffee splatters, bagel pieces, cream cheese smears. His hair is filled with filth. He's on the phone as he begins to take off his clothes.

PASQUALE

Vincent.

VINNY

Don.

PASQUALE

Find a new business.

VINNY

What. I've spent....

PASQUALE

Ssshhh. Find some line of work you can do. Out west. Way west.

VINNY

But....

PASQUALE

Be happy you can walk away.

VINNY

But...listen.

PASQUALE

No. You listen.

VINNY

But, what happened?

PASQUALE

Fucking car died in the Holland Tunnel. Very bad air. For you health, get some fresh air. Out west.

VINNY

How long do I get?

PASQUALE

A week to clear out, then a lifetime. Otherwise, eight days and you feed the fishes.

VINNY

But....

PASQUALE

Ssshhh. I want just four words from you.

VINNY

What?

PASQUALE

Thank you, Don Pasquale.

VINNY

(bitter but resigned)

Thank you, Don Pasquale.

INT. MORT APPLE'S OFFICE - DAY

Small, cramped office with walls covered with faded pictures of past stars and old posters mostly for Borscht Belt plays and klezmer concerts. MORT APPLE, a crisply dressed man in his early 60s is looking at the posters with a rueful smile. Single knock and then before MORT can say anything the door opens and ANGELO walks in. ANGELO has a much tougher persona in this scene. The hard nosed investment banker is showing.

ANGELO

Mr. Apple. Nice of you to see me.

MORT

Sorry it look so long to get back to you. I'm a busy man. A very busy man as you may appreciate. You said over the phone, a proposition. What? Insurance? Mutual funds? Magazines? Florida? Solar power? Republicans? What? What are you selling?

ANGELO

Nothing.

MORT

Nothing? Nobody sells nothing. What? What?

ANGELO

I saw your Song of the Son of Sam.

MORT

(pushing his hands out to keep the memories away)

You. Very special. One of maybe just a dozen. Yi yi. Please. Don't haunt me.

ANGELO

I loved it.

MORT

Loved it.

ANGELO

Brilliant.

MORT

(disbelieving but hopeful)

Brilliant?

ANGELO

Brilliant.

MORT

(shrugs, concurs)

Brilliant.

ANGELO

I don't know much about the theater...

MORT

(interrupting, let down, then angry and sarcastic)

But you know what you like. C'mon. Don't waste my time. What're you selling?

ANGELO

I'm interested in seeing a work come to Broadway.

MORT

(hesitantly)

What is this work?

ANGELO

Was Evita good theater?

MORT

Hard to say. Something good can be made bad. Something bad can be made good. Patti Lupone, she made Evita good, maybe great. With someone else, same play, maybe just okay. Why?

ANGELO

In your professional opinion, do you think Evita could be revived?

MORT

Maybe. It's early. But, yeah. Maybe. Like medicine. We got new techniques. Our own CPR. Critical Performer Revival. Take any piece of farshtinkener and ongepatshket it with any star and you've got a chance. Liz Taylor as Evita, singing or not, believe me, I can revive. Why? Tell me. You got girlfriend who sings?

ANGELO

(shrugging off the question)

I'm interested in seeing a kind of production come to Broadway.

MORT

(leaning forward)

Interested means?

ANGELO

Money, what else?

MORT

You want to know? Today, usually, almost anything else.

ANGELO

This is not a whim. I'm prepared to invest one and one half million dollars in a revival, a revival of a kind of Evita.

MORT

(dazed)

Kind of means?

ANGELO

The story I have in mind is a story like Evita but

(hesitating)

But I want it to be about someone else.

MORT

(agitated)

What kind of shmeikel is this Evita vehicle what is not about Evita.

ANGELO

(slowly, studying MORT closely)

The title on the marquee would be...Imelda.

MORT

(starts to laugh, thinks, gets a sly look and then nods seriously)

Hmmmmm. Am I right, am I wrong? This Imelda is Imelda Macros?

ANGELO

Yes. I want to bring a story about Ferdinand and Mrs. Marcos to Broadway.

MORT

(thinking hard, figuring the angles)

For one and a half million dollars I can get you very close to Broadway.

ANGELO

(cold, looking like his father)

Broadway.

MORT

Mr. Angel. I can tell you the theater is a crap shoot. No promises.

(studies ANGEL, then, tentatively)

Maybe on Broadway.

ANGELO

(his face softens and he nods)

One more condition.

MORT

(leery)

Yes?

ANGELO

A certain someone has to be a part of the cast.

MORT

I know it is an art, but you tell me who and, even dead, they're in.

ANGELO

No. Not like that. You won't know who. I know someone who I think has talent. But, as I said, I don't know very much about the theater. I'll give you start-up money. Get a writer, rent rehearsal space, start auditions, whatever's necessary. If the person I'm interested in makes it into the cast, I'll pony up the rest of the money. Understood?

MORT

(thinking, slowly nodding)

Understood.

ANGELO

Don't decide now. Think it over. I'll call you in a couple of days.

(the hard look comes back, flicks his hand at the desk)

Maybe the next time I won't have to wait so long to see such a busy man.

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S OFFICE - DAY

DR. APPLEBY is looking out the window dreamily. As the scene progresses he takes an empty coffee cup, turns it upside down and begins to fondle it like a breast. PASQUALE is on the couch. His gun is falling out of its holster. He is angry.

PASQUALE

(wild gesticulations)

I've had it. Had it. Giving my soul to this business and I'm getting nowhere and no thanks. I'm up early and in early. Making sure my staff knows what to do and has the resources to do it. I stay late working on plans and studying.

DR APPLEBY

Studying?

PASQUALE

Before I was in this new position, I never paid much attention to management. Now, I do, but it's not a natural thing for me. I got worries. I get doubts. So, I been studying the literature. Reading up. This guy Drucker. That guy Carnegie. Sales guys. Marketing guys. Motivation guys. Trying to find some answers. This thing I do is dying and nobody but me sees it. Everybody is fighting me. I don't know what to do. These shoulders

(pounds himself and further dislodges the gun)

Are big. I think I can carry the load, but then I get these times, these moments, when I get overwhelmed with these feelings I get, like doubt, disconsolation, despair. You know, what's a guy like me doing trying to run such a major organization? After a long day, maybe a long night, I go home. Mezza morta. To my wife. Looking for some comfort. Some understanding. There's no comfort there. She's busy. She and that mother of hers--they're busy. Busy being the best guineas they can be. Busy making me pazzo. I go to work. Same thing. Nobody's working, but everybody's busy. Busy pretending to be a big earner. Busy being cugine. Busy being a guinea. Working overtime at that. And they expect the same from me. This job I got, this work I do, it's too big. I can't be just another dumb guinea and pull this job off.

DR APPLEBY

(drifting back from his reverie and feeling the need to talk)

Whoa. Whoa. How many times do I hear this? Weeks ago and now again? Guinea. Dumb guinea. This is not good. What does this dumb guinea mean to you?

PASQUALE

I told you. You watch TV? You go to the movies? You see the Godfathers? Every other word--fukkin this, fukkin that. Mumble this. Mumble that. Brush your hair. Grab your balls. Dumb guinea. Just stereotypes, right? Like a smart Jew. Right? Am I right? Except because everybody expects a Jew to act like a Jew, he does. A Jew gets smart and a guinea gets dumb because everyone is pushing him that way. Culture. It's bullshit. I want to be smart. You know, that first session, you said something I've been thinking about. You said maybe there was a Jew inside me that wanted to come out. I keep thinking about that. This business I'm in is filled with dumb guineas. But, also, once in awhile, a few Jews. Smart Jews. A guy name of Bugsy. Another guy Mayer. And, who else? Shultz. Shultz, that's a Jewish name, right?

DR APPLEBY

(considering)

Maybe. Shul is temple. Could be. Jewish names aren't so easy anymore. I've got two brothers. Both Jewish. The older, a rebbe, Ya'aqob. Just like you. Ya'aqob. Jacob. Giacomo. All the same.

(PASQUALE sits up at this news)

Ya'aqob Applebaum, the rebbe. The younger brother, a man of the theater, a producer, Mort Apple. Both Jewish, so both Jewish names, yes? Your name, Pasquale, that's a wonderful Jewish name.

PASQUALE

(in consternation and wonderment)

What do you mean?

DR APPLEBY

Pasquale, Paschal, Pasch, Passover. The old word for Pesach or Passover was Pasch. The Catholics still use Pasch, right? A Paschal lamb. So, you see, Pasquale is very Jewish name. Maybe a long time ago or, who knows, not so long ago, your family were Jews. There have been many times when it was better for a jew to be a Catholic...if he didn't want to go to your hell until later.

PASQUALE

(wistfully)

You know, I could almost wish it was true.

DR APPLEBY

You want more than to wish, call my brother, the rabbe. He could help.

INT. REBBE APPLBAUM"S OFFICE - DAY

REBBE APPLEBAUM and PASQUALE are standing over a desk and the rebbe is showing PASQUALE a yarmulke, phalacteries, scrolls, etc. PASQUALE is enthusiastic, nodding.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - DAY

PASQUALE is sitting at his desk. The desk is covered with computer printouts, software disks, calculator, gun, boombox, coffee, fax machine, and some Jewish paraphernalia. DONATO is waiting for PASQUALE to look up.

PASQUALE

Hold on.

(searches through a pile of tapes, shoves one in the boombox. the wail of a klezmer band begins)

This will make those Mick feds pazzo. Makes me pazzo, but... a good pazzo. Now we can talk. Donato, my nephew, you are not the best soldier I ever seen. You know that. I know that. You kept bothering Don Santa to be a a made guy. We said no. You weren't ready. Now, I'm going to give you a chance. You show me you're not a jamook, and I'll make sure you are made a member of this thing we do.

DONATO

(ecstatic, a huge guy hopping around like he is going to pee his pants)

Fucking A. the whole thing? The blood? The prayer, the holy card, the little fire? Everything? I'd really be a made member of this thing we do?

PASQUALE

(trying to dampen his nephew's enthusiasm)

Yeah. But first you've got to do the job. And with this job you're going to need more than muscle. Brains.

DONATO

No problem. What's the job?

PASQUALE

Tai Carmina and her mother have taken a real liking to this new priest at Lost Souls. Father ... something.

DONATO

(interrupting, excited)

You want me to whack him?

PASQUALE

(drumming his fingers)

He has some kind of building fund that's come up missing.

DONATO's face begins to show incredulity.

PASQUALE (CONT'D)

Probably some melanzana addict took it. You know the cops. Too busy chasing tail or us to solve a real crime. They could give a shit. Get out on the street. Find the money. Get it back.

DONATO

(obviously disappointed)

That's it? No whacking?

PASQUALE

You need more, you ask the priest. You get the money, you're made. No killing. This is the new thing we do. You don't get the money, maybe you're back on the night shift at Kennedy tagging heists. Remember-- brains. I don't want problems. Don't want to have to put you on a plane

(waves DONATO out of the room as he picks up a scroll)

INT. MOB HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT

Headquarters is an old garage that has been gussied up to look like a corporate boardroom. PASQUALE, dressed in a bankers gray suit and a repp tie is standing by an overhead projector. The large conference table is filled with bored HOODS slumping in their chairs and playing with their water bottles. PASQUALE wanders the room and then wanders back to the projector as he changes overheads and makes his speech.

PASQUALE

Gentlemen, please. It's getting late. Can we hold on to our remarks? I want to get through the agenda. Item Four. Investments. With the passage of RICO legislation, it's even more important that we be careful with our investment strategies. We need to be shifting capital out from our traditional product lines into new, more dynamic opportunities with longer time horizons but commensurately lower risk.

HOOD-A

What' the fuck's he talking about?

HOOD-B

Haven't a clue. Ask him.

HOOD-A

Don Pasquale

(Pasquale nods but not happy with the interruption)

What the fuck are you talking about?

PASQUALE

An example? Disinvesting or divesting our lending operation

(looks at HOOD-A--no comprehension)

Walking away from chasing vig.

(heads nod)

Harvest our companionship product line.

(see blank faces)

Get out of the pussy business.

(immediate protests from everybody)

We're living in a new world. Don Santa had a hard time seeing that. The next ten years, we don't change, we're dead. Look at the loanshark business. A good business for a long time. Poor people, immigrants, people with strong backs and no credit came to us. The only way we make money is if people need our money. Who needs our money today? Real poor people are gone. War on Poverty took care of that. Immigrants aren't from Italy anymore. You know who's got the highest savings rate in the world? I'll tell you who. The fucking gooks, that's who. And who are the new immigrants--gooks of every stripe. Do they need our money? We're not careful, soon we'll be borrowing from them. Regular customers? New customers? People want to take on debt, they don't need us. Christ, they give credit card to dogs and babies. You want a house? Bank will loan you the down payment and balloon out the principal. Got a hundred bucks? Get a house. Loansharking? History. A good old business gone. Pussy? You like the pussy business? No, you like pussy. Used to be a nice business. Easy money. Nice perks. Now? Forget it. Look at what you got in just ten years. Escort services, video matchmaking, personal columns, blow-up dolls, women's lib. The last? Any broad under forty thinks they're making a political statement by giving it away free.

HOOD-A

Hey, what about our unions? Construction. Freight. Trash.

PASQUALE

Unions? Unions? Are you fucking nuts? With this Reagan guy there's not going to be any unions. Not blue collar anyway. We stay in the union business we've got to go upscale. Get hold of some of the A unions. AMA. ABA. AAUP. Doctors. Lawyers. Professors.

HOOD-B

Those ain't unions.

PASQUALE

Don't be stupid. They're unions. Best kind of union. Unions that don't even look like unions. I'd love to get our paws into NYU, Columbia and some of these hospitals with the doctors.

(looks around the room at the mutts)

Alright, let's wrap it up. Think about opportunities for next week's meeting. And costs. We got to patrol our costs. I've got ideas you won't like so get some of your own. Also, I want your quarterly reports, your P&L's, your cash flow projections. Also, I want to see some long run forecasts. Three years anyway. Put them into graphs. This book

(slaps the book)

Says graphs help data acquisition, comprehension and retention. Got it? Good.

(people start to push back from the table. Pasquale lookls at the book and remembers the teaching)

Guys, guys, good fucking meeting.

INT. LOST SOULS CHURCH VESTRY - DAY

FATHER PAULIE, CARMINA and NONNI are in the vestry which is filled with the detritus of remodeling.

FR. PAULIE

(agitated)

I'm glad you could come right way. Come. Look.

ALL THREE walk to the altar. FATHER PAULIE takes a key and opens the tabernacle.

FR. PAULIE (CONT'D)

Look. It's gone. All gone. More than two million dollars stolen.

CARMINA and NONNI look. CARMINA and FATHER PAULIE slump to the altar floor. NONNI paces.

NONNI

The relics are here?

FR. PAULIE

Yes. They came in Monday.

NONNI

Paid for?

FR. PAULIE

Thank God. I was so smart....

NONNI

(interrupting)

Carpenters, electricians, painters?

FR. PAULIE

They're all scheduled. You know how hard it is in New York. I was....

NONNI

(interrupting)

Paid for?

FR. PAULIE

No. You see I was going....

NONNI

(interrupting)

Doesn't matter. We don't need the money right away.

FR. PAULIE

No, but we will. Lots of money. Where will it come from? Your gift was a miracle. We can't expect two.

NONNI

(eyes lighting)

Why not? It's obvious God wants this work done. We'll make a miracle.

FATHER PAULIE goes into his marketing manager spiel.

FR. PAULIE

That's great. The real miracle is filling the church. Filling it with faith , hope, and

(giggling)

we hope and have faith, a little charity. To get the real big miracle we need a little miracle. I think I've got an idea. It won't cost a lot of money to get it going and it could bring in a fortune. Then we can keep rebuilding Lost Souls. Do either of you have any money?

NONNI and CARMINA shake their heads.

CARMINA

My husband has been very tight lately. He's got business problems.

FR. PAULIE

That's too bad for us. For the want of a nail, the crucifixion was lost.

CARMINA brightens.

CARMINA

We could go to a loan shark and get the money from him.

FR. PAULIE

Great idea, but until we get the money from the miracle how to we pay the vig?

NONNI points to the long-handled baskets in the corner.

FR. PAULIE (CONT'D)

God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S OFFICE - AFTERNOON

MORT APPLE is on the couch. His brother DR. APPLEBY is fiddling with putting his finger in and out of a paper clip holder.

DR APPLEBY

It's what you wanted.

MORT

Yeh, sure, what I wanted, but not like I wanted it. Hau, boy. I have dreams. I'm in a police station. Through a one-way mirror, I'm looking. At a line-up. Me, I gotta pick the right guy. I mess up, I'm history.

DR APPLEBY

So, the audition, when do they start?

MORT

Tomorrow already, they start.

DR APPLEBY

So, what will you do?

MORT

Do? Who knows? One angle, I put together the best cast I can. A little lucky I get. Certainly, I'm due. I cast the mysterious yuppie princess. She's an Ethel Merman. The music I'll be paying such eppes gelt for comes out better than Lerner and Lowe. A few more tseududlteh investors come to throw their life savings at me, and who knows, I got a hit, a big hit.

DR APPLEBY

(shaking his head, unconvinced)

A hit about Imelda Macros?

MORT

I've been wrong before, so, again, wouldn't surprise me. But, if I'm right, I make a lot of money. Maybe, it's too late for love, but it's not too late for security. A big show, I can put my future in the bank.

DR APPLEBY

You had your future in the bank, but you took it out. You couldn't wait. You had to have your future early. You had to do the Son of Sam megilla. Right?

MORT

Right, but....

DR APPLEBY

But....

MORT

But... okay, if I'm wrong, I lose everything including probably any other shot in the future. The longest running shows in an angel's mind are the ones that didn't run. The successes? Peu. The failures? They never forget.

DR APPLEBY

So, if you don't keep kosher with your investors, what?

MORT

I shoot for failure. Like The Producers. This meshugge angel insists a certain someone's in the show. Fine. I figure someone needs that much money to get into a show, they gotta be total bad, am I right? So, if I want to be sure I cast the schnook, I hire the worst people I try out. Mr. Yuppie Investor is happy--his girlfriend is in. He cuts the big check. I go into rehearsals, but I leave my head at home. I skim whatever dough I can, open out of town, get cut to ribbons, and close out of town. The ongeflikt walks away with nothing and I'm left with a little something. Maybe enough to buy a little bungalow in Coconut Grove and do dinner theater. Not my life dream, but better than freezing on a Bowery stoop.

DR APPLEBY

Will this bungalow be big enough?

MORT

For what?

DR APPLEBY

For you and your constant companion.

MORT

And who am I taking to this farshtinkener bungalow? A new bride?

DR APPLEBY

No, your dear old friend. The friend that brought you here. Guilt.

MORT

Guilt? Guilt? For what?

DR APPLEBY

For stealing this mentsh' money.

MORT

I'm not stealing. I'm investing.

DR APPLEBY

Hiring talent off the bottom, skimming dollars off the top, that doesn't sound like investing to me.

MORT

Listen, Mr. Crazydoctor, maybe you forget. I'm sixty-two. I've got nada. Old age is barreling down on my like the A train. I'm not deaf. I hear the roar. I'm not blind. I see the bright light. Today is today. Tomorrow is old age. What else am I going to do? Live with my successful doctor brother? You got an extra room for me? You want your younger brother, the failure, to go bump in the night at your place? Spritzing pee on the bathroom floor? Leaving teeth in your favorite coffee cup? Moaning whining from too little bran or too much deli? For you, believe me, better I should steal.

DR APPLEBY

Better you should bring a good show to Broadway. For you, much better.

INT. BRICE AND ANGELO'S APARTMENT - EVENING

ANGELO is studying a thick pack of papers. BRICE bursts through the door and takes a dramatic bow to an invisible audience.

BRICE

Behold a star.

ANGELO

You got s part? Great. In what?

BRICE

(singing)

When you wish upon a star....

ANGELO

Disney?

BRICE

Yeath. I'm Tinkerbell. No. If I had my wish what would I want to be in more than anything else?

ANGELO

(perplexed)

I don't know. Shakespeare, I suppose. Hamlet?

BRICE

(peeved)

So much for communication. What were we talking about just a few weeks ago?

ANGLO ponders and shrugs.

BRICE (CONT'D)

The theater needing to be large? To deal with important people? I thought about it and someone's done it. It's like a miracle

ANGELO

That's terrific. What it is about?

BRICE

It is about the most important woman of our times barring Jackie O and Golda Meir.

(singing and spelling in a knock-off of Aretha Franklin singing RESPECT)

I M E L D A.

ANGELO

Do you have a big role?

BRICE

Sorry, sugar. You'll have to wait to see. But, not long. The producer says that money is tight, so we're barely rehearsing before we take it out of town. For Imelda, where else? We're going to open in DC. Where's my bag? Where's my bag?

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S BEDROOM AND MORT'S HOTEL ROOM. - NIGHT

DR. APPLEBY and MORT are both in bed with a phone. DR.APPLEBY is on top of the covers dressed in boxers. He has a bottle of moisturizing cream wedged between his legs. As he talks he ejaculates cream onto his thighs and rubs it in. The scene shifts back and forth between the two rooms.

MORT

My brother, the crazydoctor.

DR APPLEBY

Mort?

MORT

Yes, Mort. Who else?

DR APPLEBY

How are you?

MORT

Calling at this time of the night? How am I? Lying down, that's how I am.

DR APPLEBY

Resting?

MORT

Resting smesting. I'm trying to have a session with my crazydoctor. It's after eleven so the rates are down. I figure if Momeleh Bell can afford to charge less after eleven, maybe my brother can too.

DR APPLEBY

A doctor? Charge less? At night? Then, you really do need a crazydoctor. My advice? Talk fast. Where are you? What's wrong?

MORT

What's wrong is what's right. I'm in DC. We opened tonight. Mazel tov. They love us.

DR APPLEBY

Who loves you?

MORT

Everyone who. From the dumb critics to the smart janitor.

DR APPLEBY

Success is a big problem?

MORT

For your Shmerl Narr brother it is. I listened to you. I didn't want to be in the bungalow with the guilt. But, also, I didn't want to be freezing to death with such a clear conscience. I hired the best cast. I must have hired the mystery princess because the yuppie continued with the angel gelt. So, no guilt. But, also I skimmed, just a little, but off the top. I put it in the market. Like the gonef it is, the market went down. It yentsed me. Took all the money. Now I got what could be a huge success and I got no money left to get it to Broadway. If I weren't such a Jew, I could be in an O'Henry story.

DR APPLEBY

How much do you need?

MORT

Almost half a million.

DR APPLEBY

(absolutely dumbfounded)

You lost half a million in the market?

MORT

Not all. Some.

(reluctantly)

Most.

DR APPLEBY

How? How could you do that?

MORT

There's a new thing. Puts and calls.

DR APPLEBY

No puts. Putz. Half a million? What a putz.

MORT

Thank you , Mr. Crazydoctor. Mr. Tsitser. That helps. Now, I feel so much better. How much am I paying your for such good advice?

DR APPLEBY

You lose half a million and you want sympathy? Not from this doctor who is also your brother and knows what he knows.

MORT

Don't nudzh. Remember you told me about a patient? A businessman?

DR APPLEBY

Forget it.

MORT

No. Wait. Maybe he can help. He's a bigshot executive. Maybe, he'd like a sure thing investment.

DR APPLEBY

Whoa. Whoa. What are you saying? A sure thing investment? With my little brother? Mr. Broadway. Mr. Putz and Calls. You must think this crazydoctor is crazy.

MORT

Stop. This is a sure thing. This is not a maybe. This is a hit. Huge. Bigger than big. I'll send you the reviews. You show them to Mr. Bigshot Executive. Tell him for every dollar in he could get ten out. What could go wrong?

DR APPLEBY

With Mr. Son of Sam genius, who knows? Something. For sure, something.

MORT

Stop. No more with the utz. Just read the reviews. Good night.

DR APPLEBY

That's it?

MORT

I can't afford to talk to you.

DR APPLEBY

Wait. This isn't phone sex by the minute session.

MORT

You get Mr. big and I'll pay for the whole night.

INT. BRICE AND ANGELO'S BEDROOM AND BRICE'S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

ANGELO is sitting up in bed with a notepad, prospectus, calculator, etc. BRICE is doing his toenails. Play like a Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland separation.

BRICE

(very excited)

A star loves you madly.

ANGELO

It went well?

BRICE

The audience loved us. They couldn't get enough. Washington's has always had a love affair with the Marcos'. Five encores. My cheeks absolutely ache from smiling. My lips are raw from blowing kisses.

ANGELO

Sorry I had to miss it. This takeover's been murder. We've been working non-stop.

BRICE

Say no more. I understand. We all must bust our sweet round rumps for our careers.

ANGELO

(becoming aware)

It's kind of quiet. Aren't you at the opening party?

BRICE

There is no party. Mort just brushed it off. There's talk he's run out of money.

ANGELO

(immediately alert)

What? How could that be?

BRICE

Sweetie, it's easy. A dollar here, a dollar there.

ANGELO

You're not worried?

BRICE

Of course, I'm worried, I'm terirfied, but what can I do? All I can do is give the best performance I know how. If the fates choose to leave me languishing in DC alongside all the other near-misses, political and otherwise, rather than on Broadway, there is not much I can do.

ANGELO

He'd better get you to Broadway. That's the deal.

BRICE

What deal?

ANGELO

(catching himself)

The deal. Ah, the deal...the understanding a producer has with his cast. You give him a good show, he takes you to Broadway.

BRICE

Well, I'm praying. Can you do the same for your sweetie?

ANGELO

(darkly)

I'll do more than pray.

BRICE

You know, lumpkin, I've been having this daydream. I can't get it out of my head. I get to Broadway. We open. We're a huge success. Curtain call after curtain call. And at the end of all that applause I unmask myself. I come out. Tell the world I'm gay. And the applause becomes even more thunderous. Ma'ma' Pa'Pa' are there and they're swept away with everyone's love for me and, finally, they feel their own love for me. They love me for who I am, just another too cute queer.

ANGELO

That sounds like a nice dream. I wish it could come true. But, forget it. Once you're put of the closet, you can't turn round and walk back in. It doesn't work that way. Most of the time I wish I'd stayed in. Out of the closet, out of the house, out of my own name, out of the neighborhood, out of their lives.

BRICE

It shouldn't be that way.

ANGELO

Shouldn't be, but it is. It's a big price. Be sure you want to pay it.

BRICE

You're probably right. Try to fly down this weekend. I miss you so much.

ANGELO

I'll try. No promises. There's a lot of work.

BRICE

I'll pine.

INT. IMMACULTA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

DONATO is creeping around IMMACULATA"S garish apartment. IMMCULATA enter her apartment with a large bookbag. She's tired. Kicks off her shoes. Pours a glass of wine. Runs a shower. Starts to undress. Goes to her closet to get her robe. Hello DONATO. IMMACULATA screams.

DONATO

(swaggering out of the closet)

Imagine meeting you here. I thought you never slept in your own bed.

IMMACULATA

(shaken, but angry)

Rare coincidence, you fuck. Scared the shit out of me. What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here.

DONATO

Sure, as soon as I get a little

(reaches out his hand)

Piece of information.

IMMACULATA

(slapping his hand)

Told you. Fuck off.

DONATO grabs IMMACULATA's nipple, pulls her close, pulls out a knife and flicks it open

DONATO

Your choice. A little piece of information, or ... a little piece of you. Where's the money?

IMMACULATA

What money? What are you talking about?

DONATO

(touching the knife to the nipple)

The money we talked about. The church money.

(enraged, screaming)

Where's the fucking money?

INT. ANGELO'S OFFICE - NIGHT

ANGELO is working late. Building is bright, but empty. Shadow moving along a wall.

ANGELO

(hearing something)

Hey?

(no sound)

Hey, who's there?

ANGELO leaves his office and begins to slowly walk down a hallway. An arm reaches out and grabs him. ANGELO panics before he sees it is IMMACULATA.

ANGELO (CONT'D)

(nervously laughing)

God. Please don't rape me. I'm gay.

IMMACULATA

Shut up.

ANGELO

(seeing how serious Immaculata is)

What's wrong? What's happened?

IMMACULATA

Dickhead Donny. He knows about the money. I think he knows we stole it.

ANGELO

Shit.

IMMACULATA

Kinda. Paid me a little visit. I told him the other guys, the Garbanzo's must have found it. Said I was drinking with a couple of them one night and might have said something while I was shitfaced. Don't know if he was more pissed about the talking or tipping a few with the beaners.

ANGELO

He believe you?

IMMACULATA

Don't know. I don't really think so, but he let me go. I'm supposed to be fucking the information back out of the Garbanzos. Like I'm some kind of truth serum. It's why I'm here. Believed me or not, he's going to get back to me because he ain't going to find the jingle, right? What am I going to do?

ANGELO

Get out of town.

IMMACULATA

No fucking way. I got classes.

ANGELO

Classes? What classes?

IMMACULATA

NYU.

ANGELO

(amazed, baffled)

You're going to college?

IMMACULATA

(proudly)

Yeah. Business school.

ANGELO

You're a newly minted millionaire and you decide to go to college?

IMMACULATA

Fuck you, Angel, get off my ass. You're a millionaire and it sure looks like you're still working. I want to be somebody. My whole life people told me I was shit. Always told me I was too dumb for college. Just stay a twat, Immaculata. You're good at it. But, you know what, Angel, I'm too smart to stay on the street. You know what I'm saying? I'm going to be somebody. Not just a dumb twat, not even a rich dumb twat. I gonna be, what, a you know, an entrepreneur. I hear what Reagan's saying. Be a patriot, be in business, be somebody. Fuck somebody out of some money. Be all the businessman I can be. I'm not fucking leaving. So, what else?

ANGELO

(considering)

I don't know. Anyone else know you're going to school?

IMMACULATA

(correcting him)

College.

ANGELO

College. Anyone?

IMMACULATA

Like who'd care?

ANGELO

So stay with me, go to class, stay out of the neighborhood until we figure something out.

IMMACULATA

(excited, grateful, almost girlish)

Yeah? Ok. Starting tomorrow.

ANGELO

No. Right now.

IMMACULATA

Can't. Gotta get my books, clothes, hairdryer, stuff.

ANGELO

Forget it. Too dangerous. Donny could come back. Buy new stuff.

IMMACULATA

Got an early class. I need clothes.

ANGELO

(exasperated)

Then, shit, I don't know. Wear something of Brice's. He has some lovely things.

IMMACULATA

(thinking)

Make-up?

ANGELO

Half a bathroom's worth.

IMMACULATA

Deal.

(advancing)

Kiss?

ANGELO

(withdrawing)

Sorry, I'm spoken for. Look, Immaculata, if this is going to work, you're going to have to leave it in your pants. Promise?

IMMACULATA

(noncommitally)

Ummmmmmmmmm.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - AFTERNOON

PASQUALE looks away from the printouts he had been studying. He shakes his head and gives a big sigh. He swings around, picks up a scroll, looks at it, puts it back down. He looks over at a wall and see his Yankees cap hanging there. He gets an idea, gets the cap, takes a giant switchblade from his pocket, and cuts the bill off the cap. He puts it on his head as an ersatz yarmulke. Looks in the mirror. Nods approvingly. Picks up the scroll and starts to puzzle through the Hebrew. Knock at door. PASQUALE rips off the cap and hides it under a management book.

PASQUALE

Yeah?

DONATO enters

PASQUALE (CONT'D)

How's that fucking project going?

(waves his hand to stop DONATO from answering and starts over)

Wait. Wait. The fucking project, it's going how?

DONATO

Fucking A, it's going.

PASQUALE

Good. Good.

(unsure what to say next)

Aaah....oy.

DONATO

(confused by what is going on)

May take a little muscle.

PASQUALE

Fucking stop with the little muscle already. Mensch and menorah, or, whatever, mushugge. Fucking a. Please, not to be such a

(searches for a Yiddish word)

Such a ... sphincter

(smiles, pleased with his fluency)

Use your mind first. Remember, a muscle is a terrible thing to waste.

INT. KOSHER DELI - NIGHT

MORT and PASQUALE are sitting at a table filled with plates of food.

MORT

So, tell me, have you ever had better brisket?

(pointing at a huge slab or gray boiled beef that sits barely touched on PASQUALE's plate)

PASQUALE

Brisket? Better never have I had.

MORT

(frowns, then smiles as he translates)

And such matzoh balls. Like pillows. Please, to try just one.

PASQUALE

(tentative)

Shalom.

PASQUALE picks up a huge ball in a small spoon. A clang at the back of the restaurant causes MORT to turn away. As PASQUALE brings the ball to his mouth, it falls off, rocks the table, falls onto the floor and rolls across and knocks over an empty chair. MORT turns back.

MORT

(smacking his lips)

Like a pillow. So, to business.

PASQUALE

(looks at the gray meat and nods approvingly to MORT)

To business.

MORT

This vehicle I've got.

(PASQUALE frowns at the word 'vehicle' as he thinks about his car)

What a vehicle. A good story. Better music. But, most of all, a great cast. Our Imelda Marcos, Flora Fauna is her name, well, just look at these reviews. Look, please look.

(hands over a stack of clippings)

Tremendous. A shmendrick could make money with such talent.

PASQUALE

(uncertain but working hard at his Yiddish)

I don't know. A shmendrick, sure, bur what about a sputum, a smudge, s smidge, or even a snivel. Fucking A. you got a great vehicle, here, I'm to tell you, but, money, you got no, what?

MORT

(first confused at PASQUALE's ersatz Yiddish finally gets a glimmer and dives in to the communication)

Basta. Pasta. Fucking A, B, whatever.

PASQUALE

(grinning hugely that he is being understood)

Shalom, already to you.

MORT

Already, shalom to you, too.

PASQUALE

This thing we do would not be mishy-mashy, right? We're talking big fucking dough...gelt, right...already?

MORT

At least

(pauses and stares at PASQUALE and tries to figure out what he can ask for)

A million. Maybe more.

(remembers)

Fucking little more. Not too fucking A much more, kayn ayn hore.

PASQUALE

Sure, kayn ayn hore. Bogosh begorrah. Fucking A, sure, no problem. But, what about, I got to ask, the cast?

MORT

The cast? Great. Great.

PASQUALE

Great, smate. Yeah, sure, but they going to stay, or what? A good vehicle, a great cast, you said, am I right? So, this cast, they going to stay? I've got to know. This vehicle investment is not a fucking cha-cha with me.

MORT

(confused again)

Cha-cha? Cha-cha

(gestures like a dance. PASQUALE shakes his head. Mort thinks)

Cha-cha. Tchotckes? Little?

PASQUALE

(nodding)

Yeah. Cha-cha.

MORT

My friend, this cast wants to be on Broadway. They love this vehicle.

PASQUALE

Maybe better I should ask. I don't want to be opgefucked in this thing we do.

MORT

(ponders)

Opfeflikt? Never. Please, come to DC. See the show. Ask them yourself. Talk to our stars. Meet Imelda. Flora Fauna.

(motioning)

Waiter, two tsimmes

PASQUALE

(on guard)

This tsimmes is what?

MORT

(rhapsodic)

Lovely. Stewed prunes, stewed apricots, stewed....

PASQUALE looking queasy pushes back from the table.

INT. WASHINGTON THEATER - NIGHT

PASQUALE is in the fifth row looking uncomfortable sitting in a small seat, dressed in a small suit which harbors a big gun. The gun is so big he can't get his arm down and the person sitting next to him is getting incensed at the obstruction. On stage the CAST is doing a number called Free to Choose My Shoes. Pairs of dancer dressed as matching shoes dance around a ballot box. On top of the box FLORA FAUNA as Imelda belts out the lyrics. PASQUALE is mesmerized by FLORA.

INT. BACKSTAGE WASHINGTON THEATER - MOMENTS LATER

A sheepish PASQUALE stands with a cheap bouquet of flowers. FLORA welcomes him and is exceedingly charmant.

INT. WASHINGTON JEWISH RESTAURANT - NIGHT

PASQUALE and FLORA are having drinks and dinner. PASQUALE offers FLORA a lump of his gefilte fish and smacks his lips. The scene plays as a knock-off of the oyster eating scene in Tom Jones Most of PASQUALE's bouquets is pinned to FLORA's dress. He leans over the table to kiss FLORA. She coyly rebuffs him.

PASQUALE

Upon my honor, alav ah-sholem, this wonderful performance you have given will be seen on Broadway.

FLORA puts her cheek out to be kissed.

INT. MCDONALD'S RESTAURANT - AFTERNOON

HOODS crammed around a couple of booths piled high with wrappers and containers. HOODS look very unhappy. PASQUALE is standing at a makeshift dais made from the trash container.

PASQUALE

For Abraham's sake, the whining, stop with it already. I keep telling you. Downsize, we've got to do. In everything. The overhead we got in this kartuffllefuckle thing we do is brutal. Cut costs, across the board, believe me, we got to do and we're going to do. All across the board

(stares hard at the rising vocal complaining)

Alright, alright already.

(pulls out a $10 bill and hands it to a HOOD)

Go on already. Fruit pies. All around, any kind...as many as this will buy. Now, I ain't asking. I'm telling. This money we got saved, this nest egg Santa left us, I'm investing in a vehicle.

(addresses concerns)

Not a car vehicle, an investment vehicle, a real ish kabibble of a vehicle. And the lady what drives this vehicle? Flora Fauna?

(kisses his hand reverently)

Not to be a fucking plotzer, but she's gold mine for us. A pony you can really ride all the way home. And, can I tell you something? This dame? Crazy she makes me. You wait. You're all going to opening night. You'll see. What a great dame. Flora Fauna. Mazel tov.

The HOODS make various gestures that they think their boss is nuts.

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - AFTERNOON

PASQUALE goes to the closet, looks for the suitcase of money, He opens it, looks in, and closes it several times like a mime. He looks around the garage very calmly, then his arms begin flailing. He tosses rakes and hoses around. Finally he kicks the cars that has given him so much trouble and a quarter panel falls off.istarts tossing things from the closet

INT. PASQUALE'S GARAGE - DAY

PASQUALE and DONATO are in the don's office. Calculators, a computer and printout share space with a gun, phalacteries and a Torah. PASQUALE is wearing his Yankees yarmulke. There's a half eaten corned beef sandwich and a couple of pickles off to one side.

PASQUALE

(very agitated)

Nu. You find the priest's money?

DONATO shakes his head. He's obviously desperate,too.

PASQUALE (CONT'D)

(growing angry)

You want in this thing we do, you got to find the money. That you know. That, already I tell you. My nephew, such a schlitz, a regular leonspinks, you are. My promise to you, you don't get made until you get that money. And hurry. I need...dis meshugge wife of mine and her mother, such a nudzh, are making me so fucking crazy I could plotz

(he checks himself to think if that is the right word)

I think.

(going steely)

Find that fucking money. And when you find it, you bring it here right away. I want that fucking money. Am I clear?

INT. TELEVISION STORY - EVENING

In a news studio that looks like it has been decorated with airport furniture, BRINK HUNTLEY, a perfect Kennedy coiffed hearty automaton, reads the news. BRAD SLADE ia a black reporter that is trying to be HUNTLEY's doppelganger down to the same relaxed Kennedy hair.

HUNTLEY

Good evening, New York. I'm Brink Huntley and this is the news. A miracle in Hedgeshurst today. My reporter Brad Slade has the story.

EXT. FRONT OF LOST SOULS - EVENING

BRAD SLADE stands in front of Lost Souls. As he reports, a carnival of weird people pass behind him--street sex, street drugs, vendor scams, etc. FATHER PAULIE stands alongside mugging for the camera.

SLADE

Brink. In a decaying neighborhood in a rotting city, two women of faith, two in ten million of the faceless faithless have witnessed a miracle. In Hedgeshurst, where the word God is most often heard as a prefix for damn and Christ is rarely a suffix for Jesus, in a tough neighborhood where charity is more often a stripper's name than a kind act, on a mean street where the tears shed are tears of rage, not sorrow, a strange thing is happening. The Confraternity of Lost Souls is a forgotten church in an unforgiving place. A lonesome relic of times when immigrants stretched out their tired arms and strong faith to a Christian God rather than a faceless government. But times change and over time Lost Souls itself became lost. Most days holding on to only a handful of believers. A meager few who were almost as old and decrepit as the church where they worshipped. Then, a minor miracle. Father Paulie Caffeino is assigned to the parish. Father Paulie is a man who wears his faith on his sleeve of his new cassock. Where others saw Lost Souls as a lost cause, the father saw an opportunity for faith through works. Fr. Paulie -- a believer in hard work and the sweat of his brow--now has the religious equivalent of Lotto, a miracle. In his own words

(turns to the priest)

FR. PAULIE

I saw a golden opportunity here. A religious territory so played out, it was new again. I saw an opportunity to make an investment of my time and energy to reap a profit in souls for Our Lord.

SLADE

Father Paulie developed a plan to refurbish the church and restore the faith. He had a plan, but he need one of two things to give the plan a shot.

HUNTLEY

What was that, Brad?

SLADE

Glad you asked, Brink. Money or a miracle.

HUNTLEY

What happened?

SLADE

First, he went the mammon route. He asked foundations. Rebuffed. He begged businesses. Stonewalled. He beseeched his bishop. Nada. Finally, with nowhere else to turn, he asked those ostensibly too poor to help, he turned to the very souls he wanted to help. He put up a sign asking for help.

BRAD SLADE turns and gestures toward a mammoth sign of a sad-faced, long-haired, open-armed Jesus. Jesus' arms are pointing down toward a giant replica of a long-handled collection basket. Next to the collection basket is a United Way-type thermometer to measure the progress of the funding.

HUNTLEY

Brad, why the box out in public? In such a tough neighborhood. Isn't that just asking for trouble?

SLADE

Brink, that was my very question. We seem to share those news anchor sensibilities.

HUNTLEY

(countering the effrontery)

As the Byrds sang, 'For everything there is a season.'

SLADE

(miffed)

The good father figured that if the money wasn't stolen then that would be a sign from God.

HUNTLEY

Good plan. What happened?

SLADE

Not much. Not too many dinero is the basket. Then, these two women, long time parishioners stopped by the box on the way to Mass.

NONNI and CARMINA, both nervously grinning, get pulled into the scene.

SLADE (CONT'D)

They thought to give a dollar each, but at the last minute, each reconsidered and they threw in a twenty. That's when the miracle happened.

HUNTLEY

(trying to move the story along)

Don't keep us in suspense, Brad. This cold old town could use a miracle.

SLADE

I'm a reporter, so, of course, I'm a cynic. Both the work I do and the tough town in which I do it breeds it. I'll let our viewers hear what happened from those that witnessed it.

NONNI

(stretching her accent to the limit)

We put the money in and stopped to say a little prayer. I notice something out of the corner of my eye. I look up--a drop of blood and then another--forty we count, comes out of Jesus heart and drips into the thernomometer. You know, the thing where the money is measured. We couldn't believe what we was seeing. We go find Father Paulie, tell him. He comes out with us. I got a ten left. Like clockwork, another miracle. Ba da bing, ten drops into the thernomometer. We tell out friends at mass. They do the same thing. More money. More blood. All day, people in the neighborhood hear, they come, they watch, they give, they see, they pray such a miracle is happening with such a wonderful old church.

HUNTLEY

(disbelieving)

Brad, that's heartwarming, but what does the church say?

SLADE

So far, nothing.

HUNTLEY

Thanks, Brad. A great story from a good street reporter. Next up, a little man from the boroughs tries to make it big in Manhattan. Small time developer Donald Trump has a big dream. ure. Listen.

INT. BRICE AND ANGELO'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

ANGELO is sitting on a couch looking very morose. IMMACULATA comes out of the bathroom in a skimpy robe. When she sits next to ANGELO on the couch and begins toweling her hair dry, parts of her begin escaping the robe.

IMMACULATA

Nice of you letting me stay here. Home at night with someone. That's real different for me, you know? Feels good.

(looks at Angelo)

What's wrong?

ANGELO

Nothing.

IMMACULATA

Looks like a pretty big nothing. Work?

(pause)

Brice?

(pause)

Yeah, Brice, right? Don't know, Angel. This ain't too good for my ego, you know what I'm saying? Me here in all my glory up close and your sad eyes looking so far away. Look at me, won't you?

ANGELO looks and IMMACULATA gives a little shimmy and more parts are revealed.

IMMACULATA (CONT'D)

Tell me true. Really, not a tingle? Not nothing?

ANGELO

(sheepishly)

Sorry.

(self-mockingly)

Not nothing.

IMMACULATA

You know, Angel, I had the hots for you for a long time. More than ten years now. What's wrong with me?

(combination of sorrow and anger that begins to release tears)

Spend my whole life chasing things I can't have. Only two things in my life I ever really wanted--to be with you and to be in that thing they do. Don't look like I'm ever gonna get either one of them. That fair or what? That stupid or what? How come we always chase shit we can't have?

ANGELO

(shrugs and says slowly)

All I know is we have to chase the things we have to chase. If it's folly, then we have to be fools. Or if we're real lucky, maybe, sometimes, we get just a taste. A taste is nice, but it doesn't much change what we have to do. Look at what it's cost me. You think I planned on being gay

(solicitous voice)

What do you want to be when you grow up?

(points a finger at three imaginary kids)

Policeman. Doctor. Teacher.

(points a finger back at himself and lisps)

Gay. You think my life's easier being gay? About as easy as you wanting to be in the mob. Life's hard, Immaculata, but keeping dreams in harder.

ANGELO and IMMACULATA hug.

INT. MORT APPLE'S OFFICE - DAY

A frantic MORT is on the phone.

MORT

I've got to have that money. You promised me. On your honor you said. I don't get the money, I don't open. I don't open, Flora Fauna waves bye bye.

EXT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - DAY

PASQUALE is collecting handguns and car keys from a group of very angry HOODS

PASQUALE

I don't want to hear it. I need the cash for the vehicle.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - NIGHT

PASQUALE late at night pounding on the computer keyboard, studying the results on the monitor and throwing up his hand sin despair.

INT. DR. APPLEBY'S OFFICE - DAY

PASQUALE is on the couch. DR. APPLEBY is being consoling while he unconsciously slides his hand up inside the lampshade of his office lamp and fondles the bulb.

PASQUALE

You don't understand. I don't get the money, I don't get to see the Flora Fauna girl, and that girl is the only thing in my life that brings any relief.

INT. REBBE APPLEBAUM"S OFFICE - DAY

PASQUALE is pacing and gesticulating and REBBE APPLEBAUM is making comforting gestures.

INT. PASQUALE'S OFFICE - NIGHT

PASQUALE at home in his office with his phalacteries and Yankee yarmulke on is in an attitude of prayer.

PASQUALE

Please, Adoshem, to me, a poor narr, listen. Problems I got. Out to here.

(spreads his arms wide)

Alright already, I'm not deserving. I'm a bad man, this I know. But, help I need. I got nowhere else to turn. Help me and, believe me, a better man I will be.

There is a knock on the door. IMMACULATA enters. She is carrying a briefcase. She points between herself and PASQUALE, gestures around the room and, finally drops the briefcase on the desk. She opens it and shows him the money. She stares at him and reluctantly, PASQUALE nods.

EXT. NEW YORK THEATER - NIGHT

A theater marquee proclaims: IMELDA Premiere October 18

EXT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - DAY

Shot of Christ thermometer. Red blood to the top of the gauge and some blood has run over. A large sign gaudily painted reads: 'Grand Re-opening October 18. All new program. Mass-master Father Pauley C. gets down.' Bunting and plastic flags are festooned everywhere. Spotlights to course the sky are being set up. A hot air balloonis being inflated. Day-glo signs announce Baptism two-fers and Happy Hour Holy Communion.

EXT. NEW YORK THEATER - EVENING

ny cars pull up to the theater and huge unhappy HOODS get out. IMMACULATA, in a black two piece suit with no blouse but a repp tie, is by the door. She greets the HOODS and hands them tickets as they enter the theater. She stops TWO HOODS and whispers to them.

EXT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - NIGHT

Pimpmobiles and low-riders pull up to the church and disgorge their contents. The sign in front of the church reads Congo-Conga-Fraternity of Found Souls. The whole urban milieu parades into the church

INT. DRESSING ROOM NEW YORK THEATER - EVENING

MORT and FLORA FAUNA are in a small dressing room strewn with cosmetics and costumes.

MORT

I asked the big-shot investors back stage to wish you luck.

FLORA

Did you get all of the money from Mr. Pasquale?

MORT

Yes, thanks to you. He is very smitten.

FLORA

(singing)

...and my heart belongs to Daddy.

PASQUALE enters. He looks exhausted, but very much in love. Like Emil Jannings in the Blue Angel. He is almost reverential with FLORA. As he approaches FLORA with a bouquet in hand, MORT moves to the door as a look out.

MORT

(talking out into the hallway)

Oy, here he comes. The star of the show. The original investor. Imelda's angel.

(he turns back to PASQUALE)

I'd like you to meet...

ANGELO enters. PASQUALE and ANGELO see each other, confront and bristle.

PASQUALE

You!

ANGELO

You!

FLORA

(quietly)

You.

PASQUALE and ANGELO both exit in a rush.

MORT

(throwing his hands in the air)

What?

Stagehand pokes his nose in the door.

STAGEHAND

Sixty seconds, Miss Fauna.

INT. LOST SOULS CHURCH VESTRY - NIGHT

NONNI is peeking out a door. CARMINA is reaching into a closet to get vestments for FATHER PAULIE.

NONNI

It's packed. Standing room only.

FR. PAULIE

Oh, my God. I've got shivers. We're late. We shouldn't have rehearsed so long. Hurry. Let's get dressed.

INT. NEW YORK THEATER - NIGHT

Actor playing FERDINAND MARCOS is singing to a winsome FLORA dressed as IMELDA as she dances about a glittering Malacanang Palace ballroom.

FERDINAND

I...melda, I just met a girl named I...melda.

HOODS are fidgeting. IMMACULATA at the end of the row is whispering to the TWO HOODS she was whispering to as they entered the theater. IMELDA begins singing the seductive "I Can't Get My Fill Of Peno."

IMELDA

Though I wish and I try and shimmy and cry, with Ferdie, I can't get my fill of peno.

PASQUALE is mesmerized.

INT. NEW YORK THEATER LOBBY - MOMENTS LATER

It's intermission. PASQUALE is in a daze. ANGELO approaches his father. PASQUALE starts to turn away.

ANGELO

Please, don't leave. I've got something to say to you.

(PASQUALE pauses)

I can't help who I am. You can't help who you are. We might pretend for awhile, but we can only be what is inside. One thing neither of us can change is that I'm your son and you're my father. Blood of blood. I'm Angelo Pasquale, part of the Pasquale family, whatever that means, and that's who I'm going to be from here on out. Angelo Pasquale. Listen, because you're going to hear it a lot. When I'm on the phone, or visiting Mama, or...

(PASQUALE walks away)

Wait. We can't escape who we are.

INT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - NIGHT

The church pews are filled to overflowing. At the altar FATHER PAULIE is dressed in a surplice and Papal red CM Hammer pants with huge pleats. NONNI and CARMINA have on matching outfits suggestive of nuns' habits but with more sparkles. NONNI is working a turntable screeching an album of Gregorian chants back and forth. FATHER PAULIE is rapping out a mass.

FR. PAULIE

When Jesus left the Garden of Gethsemane he sure wasn't lookin to make hisself no enemies

(as he raps he dances)

He left there to be sendin out a message of harmoney. Put your woundin words and killin guns back in God's armory.

NONNI and CARMINA sway and sing harmony.

CARMINA & NONNI

Guns. Guns. Guns. Don't touch that stuff.

FR. PAULIE

Jesus took the 'Postles along the desert track. Told 'em he'd always be there, they should never turn their back. We can learn their lesson when lost in the black by never doubtin we can find our way home without using crack.

CARMINA & NONNI

Crack. Crack. Crack. Don't smoke that stuff.

FATHER PAULIE and NONNI and CARMINA start coming down from the altar doing a funky synchronized dance. The CHURCHGOERS start to leave their pews and dance in the aisle. FATHER PAULIE's dancing heats up, he tosses his surplice and starts break dancing.

INT. NEW YORK THEATER - NIGHT

FLORA FAUNA is stage center singing Don't Cry for Me, Mananilla. As she sings the last words, the AUDIENCE begins to clap, then roar its approval. Clap, roar, bow, roar, bow. Standing ovation. FLORA spreads her arms, calls for the cast. The PAIRS OF SHOES and FERDINAND appear. FLORA spread her arms for quiet.

FLORA

Thank you. Thank you. This is a very special night for us. There were times when we never thought we would make it to Broadway. Good theater is made of two things--a dream. We give a deep bow of appreciation to our genius dream-meister, Mr. Mort Apple.

(cast bows)

Mort take a bow.

MORT rises from the front row and takes a bow and then points a finger and winks at his brothers, DR. APPLEBY and REBBE APPLEBAUM.

FLORA (CONT'D)

And the money to make the dream happen. Our deep appreciation to Mr. Giacomo Pasquale for his much appreciated support.

CAST bows to PASQUALE. HOODS nudge each other.

FLORA (CONT'D)

Mr. Pasquale...

(tenderly)

Giacomo...please.

A beaming but embarrassed PASQUALE stands and takes a bow.

FLORA (CONT'D)

This show started with the support of an anonymous investor. We wish t thank that mysterious stranger who has remained unknown until tonight.

(a startled cast begins buzzing)

Our great thanks to

(pauses)

Mt. Giacomo Pasquale's son and

(bends over, makes a very deep bow, pops off the wig and stands back up beaming)

And my lover, Mr. Angelo Pasquale. Angel, sweetie, take a bow.

ANGELO stands, PASQUALE is horrified as he looks back and forth between FLORA/BRICE and ANGELO. ANGELO smiles ruefully at PASQUALE and shrugs. HOOD1 points a finger pistol to HOOD2.

HOOD1

Bang.

EXT. OUTSIDE FANCY RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Cortege of many long black cars. The cars stop in front of a garish restaurant and begin to disgorge HOODS.

INT. FANCY RESTAURANT - MOMENTS LATER

IMMACULATA is dressed in a severe three piece suit (vest, tie but no blouse) and rakish fedora standing at the head of a table. She takes a second to compose herself. Tables are piled high with leftover food and half empty wine bottles

IMMACULATA

First you ate, now you listen.

HOODS start to droop and protest.

IMMACULATA (CONT'D)

This theater thing is kicking off a lot of cash. We're going to use that dough to get back into the businesses we know. And the life we know. Tomorrow

(she reaches under the table, pulls up a huge purse, reaches in and starts tossing packs of money at the HOODS)

Get a gun. Get a suit. Get a car. Get a life.

HOODS cheer.

HOODS

Donna Immaculata. Donna Immaculata. Fucking A. Fucking A.

EXT. NEW YORK THEATER MARQUEE- DAY

Marquee reads: Imelda. Tony Award: Best Musical. Best Producer. Best Music. Best Leading Actor/Actress.

EXT. DESERT'S EDGE ITALIAN RESTAURANT - DAY

Bleak shack on the edge of the dessert. One car in the parking lot

INT. DESERT'S EDGE ITALIAN RESTAURANT - CONTINUOUS

VIN is making ravioli with DONNY.

EXT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH - MORNING

Sign pronounces Congo-Conga-Fraternity of Found Souls masses at 6, 8, 10, noon and an early bird at 400p. In the church yard is a big thermometer with red nearing the top of a $5 million goal to rehab derelict apartment buildings.

INT. CONFRATERNITY OF LOST SOULS CHURCH VESTRY - MOMENTS LATER

BISHOP BIGOTTI in humble garb is helping FATHER PAULIE dress in cutting ghetto garb for mass. The church is filled.

EXT. ISRAEL - DAY

Travelogue shots of Jerusalem, the Wailing Wall, desert, groups of dirt poor Arabs, the detritus of exploded buses, and bombed out houses, then a small group of dusty looking houses, and a small garden. Klezmer music plays. Scene plays put like the end of The Godfather. PASQUALE is tending his garden. A small CHILD is in the garden with him. PASQUALE pats him lovingly. PASQUALE walks down a row of tomatoes. Suddenly, he keels over. Silence. The CHILD rushes up to PASQUALE in slow motion. The CHILD is horrified. Long pause. PASQUALE stirs from where he has tripped over his Uzi. He kisses the ground, picks up the gun, pushes himself up, slings the gun over his shoulder, drops an arm on the CHILD, and walks down the garden row.

PASQUALE

Nothing like this in the old country. Gotenyu. What a great fucking country.

FADE OUT.
