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North Shore 1x08, “Burned”
Pages 14-15
MJ: (a little flustered) Hey . . .
She gives
Chris a big kiss in front of Trey, a tad uncomfortable but mostly loving it. Trey grips like a maniac but with lifeless, shark
eyes.
MJ: (CONT’D) Chris, this is Trey.
TREY: (warm) Hey.
They shake. Chris turns to MJ:
CHRIS:
I got a half-hour before I have to be down at Haliewa. Quick lunch?
MJ: It’ll have to be, I only have a half-hour.
Let me tell Cara. Bye, Trey.
MJ exits. They both watch her leave.
TREY: Or just do lunch slow. . . and drive
to work fast . . .
Trey smiles, walks away as Chris experiences some unsettling déjà vu.
INT. LOBBY –
ELEVATORS – DAY (DAY 1)
WE TRACK with Tessa as she walks with JOSEF LACOCCO, the handsome, quirky, Gen Y painter.
His oils hang in museums, palaces and rock star homes. Behind him a VALET pushes a CART BRIMMING WITH EASELS AND PAINT BOXES.
LACOCCO:
Nicole is not here, is she okay?
TESSA: She’s on a leave of absence for personal reasons.
LACOCCO: (knowingly)
Ah, rehab.
TESSA: I cannot confirm or deny that, sir.
LACOCCO: I need to go straight to my room, I’d like
to test colors while there’s still morning light. . .
They move O.S.
While from the other direction,
we PICK UP another CART moving to the Porte Cochere - - Nicole’s LUGGAGE, piled on two racks; a BELLMAN guides them
through the lobby, toward –
WALTER BOOTH, who stands by the glass doors. Behind him, a SILVER STRETCH and Booth’s
assistant MR. GRISSOM, 40, humorless, all business. Grissom’s refined appearance belies the kind of work he does for
his boss.
BOOTH: So, what lucky city wins the Nicole Booth Sweepstakes?
Nicole appears, solemn, dressed for
the plane. She sets down two sensible carry-ons.
NICOLE: I’ll decide when I get to the airport.
BOOTH:
This is pretty daring of you.
NICOLE: I take after my father. (re: Grissom) I see you brought along your winged monkey.
BOOTH:
Mr. Grissom is like family. No one is more loyal.
NICOLE: To you.
BOOTH: At least someone is. I talked to Morgan.
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Pages 19-20
NICOLE: Yeah, and Jason and I seem to be cursed. I think it’s time to move on. . .
FRANKIE:
Well, I’m going to adjust your attitude.
Frankie plops down tomato juice and vodka in front of her. Off Nicole
and Frankie’s smile . . .
INT. BUNGALOW – DAY (DAY 1)
There’s a KNOCK on the door. LaCocco
moves to it, flings open the door, indignant. Tessa enters as if the room were on fire.
TESSA: There’s an emergency?
She
follows LaCocco into a room with two easels holding blank canvases.
LACOCCO: Oh yes.
He points up to the ceiling.
LACOCCO:
(CONT’D) What happened to the fan?
TESSA: I don’t know. Was there a ceiling fan?
LACOCCO: Yes.
TESSA:
Are you hot in here, it seems nice - -
LACOCCO: the fan is to disperse the energy. The energy is. . . stagnating .
. . it is inert . . . I can’t paint in stagnant energy.
TESSA: I see, well, Mr. LaCocco, I’m afraid
the only other bungalow with this Northeastern light and a ceiling fan is occupied.
LACOCCO: Well, then. Ask them to
move.
TESSA: Ask them to. . . move?
LaCocco nods, like this were an obvious option. Off Tessa . . .
EXT.
ROAD – DAY (DAY 1)
Chris is on the side of a two-lane road near the beach, struggling to load a couple of single-man
Kayaks onto the roof rack of his Hummer. Cars rush by at high speed. Trey walks up, post-surf, carrying his board.
TREY:
Want a hand?
CHRIS: Sure. Thanks.
They start loading the first Kayak together.
TREY: So, where you from?
CHRIS:
Chicago.
TREY: You like it here.
CHRIS: Oh, yeah.
TREY: So, you’re dating MJ.
CHRIS: Yup.
They
pick up the next Kayak.
TREY: She’s awesome.
More from North Shore #9:
Page 52-53
FRANKIE: You tell me.
TESSA: That’s my point, Frankie.
No one’s telling anybody anything if you want this money. Especially Vincent. Got it?
FRANKIE: Let’s go.
Frankie
extends his hand, and they shake. Off this interesting deal……
EXT. BEACH – DAY
Gabriel and
Charlie walk back up the beach with their boards.
CHARLOTTE: You’re pretty good, Mr. Misogyny.
GABRIEL:
It’s Gabriel, actually.
CHARLOTTE: Charlotte. Charlie, actually. Nice to meet you.
GABRIEL: I wanted to
apologize for being so sexist. I’m not really like that.
CHARLOTTE: No worries. Honestly? I like surprising people.
(then) So, you wanna go out sometime?
GABRIEL: Wow, you weren’t kidding.
CHARLOTTE: What?
GABRIEL:
Weren’t you in bed - - I mean, involved - - with that. . . woman?
CHARLOTTE: Erika? Yeah. She thought you were
cute. The three of us should hang out.
Gabriel’s mind is just about blown.
GABRIEL: Hang out. . .? (then)
You know, you can be proud of who you are.
CHARLOTTE: (ignoring this) How’s Friday? They’re doing a summer
movie series at the old Drive-In outside Waipahu. We can take my van.
Off Gabriel, his world rocked:
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North Shore #9 – No Title
Sides for “Charlie”
Pages 1-3
TEASER
FADE IN:
EXT.
OCEAN – DAY
Early morning and the Pacific isn’t waking up happy. It’s a blue-grey cauldron filled
with macking swells, heavy foam, killer breaks and . . .
GABRIEL. He’s all alone in the heavy surf and loving
every minute of this whitewater storm. Our boy hits the (unreadable) as hard as he can, tries his best not to get plundered
as THROBBING MUSIC dumps us into. . .
SURF MONTAGE: Gabriel negotiates steep hollow drops with style. He bottom-turns
and nails a big no-hander. Getting cocky, he tries to pull a full-rail roundhouse, but (unreadable) hasdifferent plans. It
annihilates Gabe. He’s airborne - - - a whirling dervish of flailing limbs. In a flash, he disappears beneath the water.
A
tense moment. He’s nowhere to be seen. Then. . .
Gabriel breaks the surface. He’s all smiles as he climbs
back onto his board and prepares to get barreled again.
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. BEACH PARKING LOT – DAY
Exhausted
but stoked from the morning session, Gabriel trudges toward his car.
ACROSS THE PARKING LOT
The cargo doors
of a lime green 1980 Dodge Econoline Van pop open. A Pringles potato chip can falls out, hits the asphalt, and starts to roll.
TIGHT
ON – THE PRINGLES CAN. Picking up speed, heading straight for Gabriel. Oblivious, he trips over it and bites the pavement.
Hard.
GABRIEL: What the hell?
He picks up the can and hurls it into the garbage.
CHARLOTTE: (O.S.) Hey!
CHARLOTTE
“CHARLIE” FITZ - - that rare combination of beauty and balls - - jumps out of the van. She’s eighteen, blonde,
and wears a ratty bathrobe over her bikini. She’s also brushing her teeth.
CHARLOTTE: (CONT’D) That’s
my breakfast.
GABRIEL: Yeah? Well, your breakfast almost killed me.
CHARLOTTE: I said I was sorry.
GABRIEL:
No, you didn’t.
Charlie struts over to the trash can, collects her “breakfast,” and spits out her
toothpaste.
CHARLOTTE: Oh. Sorry.
Trumped, Gabe moves to his car. He looks over at Charlie, trying her best
to simultaneously scarf potato chips and pull a board out of her van. It doesn’t go so well. The board clatters to the
pavement.
CHARLOTTE: (CONT’D) Crap.
Gabe can’t help but smile. She’s obviously a novice.
GABRIEL:
You might wanna think twice about paddling out today. Those breaks don’t mind their manners. Even when it comes to ladies.
CHARLOTTE:
Ladies?
GABRIEL: You know, chicks. (off her look of hate) I mean. . . girls?
CHARLOTTE: Thanks for the concern,
Mr. Misogyny, but this girl will be fine.
Charlie chucks her bathrobe at Gabe, grabs her board, and dashes for
the water.
GABRIEL: I was just trying to be helpful!
CHARLOTTE: (O.S.) Bite me!
GABRIEL: Classy.
Disgusted,
Gabe balls up the bathrobe and heads for the van. The cargo doors are still open. Gabe peers inside. The back is tricked out
like a studio apartment. There’s a futon, a camping stove, and empty Pringles cans everywhere.
GABRIEL: (CONT’D)
You wanna surf? Surf. I don’t care. It’s your. . .
Gabe looks back out to the ocean. His face falls.
EXT.
OCEAN – SAME
Charlie shreds a giant wave, gets tip-time. She’s fearless, unbelievable.
EXT. BEACH
PARKING LOT – SAME
ON GABRIEL – Shocked. Speechless. Smitten.
GABRIEL: . . . . funeral.
As
Gabe’s hands go slack and he drops Charlie’s bathrobe, ANGLE ON JASON:
JASON: I brought you a robe.
CUT
TO:
INT. HOSPITAL – I.C.U. – DAY
Jason pulls a fluffy white Grand Waimea robe out of a bag and
hands it to GORDY MATTHEWS – definitely worse for wear. He’s propped up in bed. A NURSE adjusts his i.v.
JASON:
‘Finest Egyptian cotton, courtesy of the Grand Waimea’s linen closet.
GORDY: I don’t need a robe.
From North Shore #9
Pages 23-26
Sides for “Mr. Seau” (Frankie’s father)
ACT TWO
EXT.
MIDDLE CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD – DUSK
The houses of this suburban neighborhood are small. The yards are landscaped
with pride. Frankie cruises through the streets in his 1968 Ford Galaxie convertible.
INT. SEAU HOUSE – NIGHT
A
middle class home. MRS. SEAU, a beautiful, long-haired woman in her mid-40’s, rushes about the kitchen. MR. SEAU, also
mid-40’s, dressed in semi-casual business attire, sits at the table. Frankie and his little brother DINO, fourteen and
studious, flank him.
MR. SEAU: The Galaxie’s looking good.
FRANKIE: Just replaced the back bumper. I’ve
been looking for the part for over a year.
(crossed out) MRS. SEAU: (bopping Dino on the head) Did you wash your hands?
(not
crossed out) Dino rolls his eyes, moves for the kitchen sink.
MRS. SEAU: (CONT’D) Dino, did you tell your brother
about your award?
(crossed out) DINO: He won’t care.
FRANKIE: I care.
(not crossed out) MRS. SEAU:
Dino’s debate team had a tournament yesterday. He won first place in impromptu speaking.
MR. SEAU: Which I pointed
out means he’s excellent at b.s.’ing.
FRANKIE: Congrats, D. I didn’t know you did debate.
DINO:
The tournaments are during the week. I get to miss school.
MR. SEAU: My boys. Talent, but no drive.
FRANKIE:
Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about that. An opportunity’s come up. (lines crossed out. Then: ) Vincent Colville’s
letting me start up a new nightclub at the hotel.
This announcement is met with silence.
MR. SEAU: You mean,
a bar.
FRANKIE: (crossed out) It’s not just a bar. There’ll be food and drinks and live music. It’s
gonna be a hip, hot spot.
DINO: How is that not a bar?
FRANKIE: Enough with the debate crap.
MRS. SEAU:
Who wants potatoes? It’s a new recipe. There’s parmesan and roasted garlic in there.
(End crossed out lines)
Mrs.
Seau passes the dish around.
FRANKIE: You’ll appreciate this place, Ma. It’s about elegance.
MR.
SEAU: That’s us, isn’t it, Virginia? Elegant.
FRANKIE: Thing is, as with most new ventures, I need to come
up with some start-up capital. (clears his throat) Ten Grand. I was hoping I could talk to you guys about a loan.
Mr.
Seau stops mid-bite. Mrs. Seau almost drops her fork.
FRANKIE: (CONT’D) It’s just, I only have a few days
to pull the money together, and my biggest asset is the set of commemorative spoons Grandma Ruth left me.
MR. SEAU:
You’ve been working at that hotel like crazy. Where’s all your money going?
FRANKIE: Student loans, rent
- -
MRS. SEAU: Car bumpers.
Frankie doesn’t have a comeback.
MR. SEAU: You know how many people
lose their shirts investing in bars?
FRANKIE: I’d pay you back plus interest.
MRS. SEAU: It’s not
a good time, Frankie. We’re looking at private school for your brother next year.
DINO: I don’t want to
go to a stupid private school. Give the money to Frankie.
MR. SEAU: Shut up and eat your potatoes. (to Frankie) And
you. You better start listing those commemorative spoons on ebay. (to Mrs. Seau) Why the hell did your mother give him spoons?
MRS.
SEAU: I don’t know, Steven.
MR. SEAU: I swear that woman was certifiable.
As the husband and wife bicker,
Frankie takes a miserable swig of his beer. It’s gonna be a long night.
INT. SURF HUT – NIGHT
A
bottle of BEER is placed down on the table. It belongs to Gabriel, who fiddles a transistor radio. He tunes in the SURF REPORT
(Index to follow).
A defeated MJ approaches, still carrying her bouquet of flowers.
MJ: Hey.
GABRIEL:
Shh! I mean, hey. (off her hurt look) Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out tomorrow’s perfect wave so I can track
down the perfect girl.
MJ: Oh. Well, in all matters of love, I wish you luck.
MJ sits, takes a long draught
of Gabriel’s beer. Gabriel sizes her up, turns down the radio. Off flowers - -
GABRIEL: Those from Chris?
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