PEACE, LOVE AND BOMBS 10


INT. CO-OP APARTMENT HALLWAY – DAY

Franco presses his ear to an apartment door. He hears
the muffled sound of a man’s voice and knocks, but no
one answers. He knocks harder. He hears activity,
someone stirring, then a clearer voice, very close.

FRANK GENOVESE
Who is it?

FRANCO
It’s me.

There’s a pause.

FRANK
You alone?

FRANCO
Yeah.

FRANK
Nobody with you?

FRANCO
No.

FRANK
You sure?

FRANCO
Jesus Christ! Will you open the
door?

FRANK
Alright. Wait a second.

After about a minute, the door opens. FRANK GENOVESE,
in slippers, pajama bottoms and not-so-fresh v-neck
t-shirt, gestures for his son to come in and shuts the
door behind him.

FRANK
Sit down. Relax. I’m on the phone.
There’s coffee in the kitchen. Help
yourself.

FRANCO
(under his
breath)
Yeah, hello to you too, dad.

Franco pours himself coffee and sits down at the dining
room table. His father, a frail, olive-skinned man,
with thick black plastic framed glasses riding the end
of his nose, sits on a sofa in the living room, pen in
hand, scraps of paper strewn about a glass top table
and picks up the phone.

FRANK
Go ahead. What? Nothing. Just my
son. Don’t worry about it. Of
course he knows. I got bettors on
hold. You wanna give me your picks,
or bullshit? Go ahead. Alabama and
Houston… let me see… Alabama,
minus five.
(writing)
So you want Alabama, minus five,
twenty times. What else? Missouri,
Colorado. Let’s see… Missouri…
minus ten. Yeah, ten. You want
Missouri, minus ten, twenty times.
What else? What do I like? I like
your mother’s ass. What the hell’s
the difference what I like? It’s
your bet. I like un gots. You
laugh. My son’s laughing. He’s a
little stu nod too. The both of you.

FRANCO
I heard that.

Father and son laugh.

FRANK
Let’s see… Texas, Rice. Texas,
minus twenty. Twenty, yeah. It’s
not a lot of points. It’s not.
Twenty points is nothing in
college. You don’t want to lay the
points, don’t lay the points. Take
the underdog. I know you like the
favorites. Well make up your
fuckin’ mind. Yes. Texas, minus
twenty, twenty times. Good. What
else? Nothing? Nothing. Alright, I
gotta get off. Yeah. Bye.

Frank jots a few notes, then gathers his paperwork into
a neat pile.

FRANK
So. It’s been awhile. What’s going
on?

Franco carries his coffee into the living room and sits
in an expensive, worn out lounge chair. He smoothes over
the frayed material with his palm.

FRANCO
Work, mostly.

FRANK
You got help at least?

FRANCO
Yeah, I hired a couple of vets.

FRANK
They any good?

FRANCO
Oh, yeah. Seabees. They do
everything. Saves me a lot of time
explaining.

FRANK
You meet them over there?

FRANCO
Yeah.

FRANK
That’s good. You look great.

FRANCO
I been stopping at mom’s. She likes
to cook.

Frank’s eyes drop briefly to the floor, then back up.

FRANK
How is your mother?

FRANCO
What do you think?

FRANK
Does it matter what I think? Has it
ever?

FRANCO
Of course.

The two men stare eye to eye.

FRANK
Stay for lunch.

FRANCO
I thought you had calls coming in.

FRANK
Not this minute. I just wanted to
get that son-of-a-bitch off the
phone.

FRANCO
What are we having?

FRANK
What do you want? Wanna get a pie?

FRANCO
Sure.

Frank picks up the phone and dials.

FRANK
What do you want on it?

FRANCO
Anything. Doesn’t matter.

FRANK
What do you want? Sausage?
Meatballs?

FRANCO
Anything. Sausage. Meatballs.
Whatever you like.

FRANK
Hello. This is Frank. Can you send
up a large pie, half sausage, half
meatball. Franco, you want
something to drink?

FRANCO
A Coke.

FRANK
And a big Coke. About half an hour?

He looks over at his son. Franco nods.

FRANK
Yeah. Fine. Half an hour.

Frank hangs up, stretches his arms and rests them on
the back of the couch.

FRANK
They make a real good pie.

FRANCO
Dad, what do you know about
Salvatore Basso?

Frank’s face turns serious. He drops his forearms to
his knees and rests his weight.

FRANK
Why do you ask?

FRANCO
It’s probably nothing.

FRANK
Then why ask?

FRANCO
Maybe I should just shut up.

FRANK
Don’t do that. Come on.

FRANCO
I should never have brought it up.

FRANK
But you did.

FRANCO
(thinking)
Is there any reason he might want
to talk to me?

FRANK
I don’t know.

FRANCO
About you.

FRANK
No. Why would there be?

FRANCO
Well that’s the big question.

FRANK
I’m sorry. I don’t have an answer.

FRANCO
You do know who he is.

FRANK
Anyone in this business does. Look.
I’m gonna clean up. If the phone
rings, take it.

FRANCO
What if someone wants to bet?

FRANK
Take it.

FRANCO
I don’t know how to do this.

FRANK
Sure you do. Just write down what
they say. The point spreads are
right there in front of you.

FRANCO
Point spreads?

FRANK
The favorites are minus the spread.
The underdogs, plus. You’ll be fine.

Frank closes himself in the bathroom. Within ten
minutes, the phone rings.

FRANCO
Hello.

BERNIE C
Who’s this?

FRANCO
Franco, Frank’s son.

BERNIE
Where’s your father?

FRANCO
In the bathroom. I’ll take it.

BERNIE
You got tomorrow’s pro spreads?

FRANCO
(looking)
Yeah, I have ’em.

BERNIE
What’s the Giants?

FRANCO
Giants are plus three.

BERNIE
Good. Give me the Giants, a hundred
times.

FRANCO
You got it. Anything else?

BERNIE
No. That’s it for now. Tell your
father to call me if the spread
changes.

FRANCO
Will do.

Frank steps out of the bathroom with a big smile on his
face.

FRANK
How hard was that?

There’s a knock on the door.

FRANK
Pizza’s here.

FRANCO
I got it.

FRANK
You sure?

FRANCO
Get dressed.

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About ldlagarino

I'm a somewhat retired tractor-trailer driver who loves the movies and always loved to write. I have time now. No excuses. I suppose it's only natural for me to lean toward screenwriting.
This entry was posted in 1970-1971, Love, New York, Peace, The Mob and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to PEACE, LOVE AND BOMBS 10

  1. JoAnn Santoro says:

    Interesting Lawrence!

    Like

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