THE SHAPE OF JAZZ TO COME

Written by

Phil Matarese
INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - MORNING

A small one-bedroom in an unnamed city. A somber JAZZ tune is

playing, something a person could wake up too. Stacks and
crates filled with Jazz records dominate the room- making it
nearly uninhabitable. Other than the records, the apartment
includes- a mattress with sheets haphazardly thrown on it, a
sad kitchen table with a half-drank bottle of wine, a small
closet with a lone tweed suite jacket, and of course a record
player- incidentally the best looking thing in the room.

Jack, a 30-something bookish fellow, mopes around his small

place. He dons the tweed jacket- a tight fit. He peeks around
one of the crates and pulls out a colorful looking record. He
half nods at it and puts it in his messenger bag.

EXT. SHANICE’S BLOCK - MORNING

The JAZZ MUSIC picks up, taking on a happier tone. Jack walks
half a block down the street and knocks on a door. The door
opens. RUSS- an 8-year old boy is smiling. Jack pulls the
record out of his bag. Russ is enraptured by it’s colors and
detailed graphics.

Behind Russ approaches SHANICE- a lovely, petite dark-skinned

woman also mid-30’s. She smiles deeply at Jack. Russ
disappears into the house- transfixed by his new gift.

SHANICE
Did you just give him Bitches Brew?

JACK
(shrugging)
He can’t read, can he?

She shakes her head, smiling. They embrace each other and
share a heartfelt kiss. They chat for a bit, then Jack heads
down the block out of frame.

INT. NEWSPAPER HEADQUARTERS - DAY

Jack sits in a cubicle on the outskirts of the workforce

bullpen. On the outer-wall of his cubicle we see “Jack Bare-
“The Bare Essentials””, his weekly jazz column for the paper.
He has pictures of great jazz musicians hanging up, as if his
small cubicle was a teeny-bopper’s bedroom. He is wearing
huge headphones hooked up to a more contemporary record
player cramped next to his desk. He is typing away furiously
on a computer screen.

On break, Jack eats a sandwich at his desk. His coworkers are

in cliques- sports guys, business guys, literary types.
 2.

They are all dressed better than Jack. He is the bottom of

the totem pole. He looks around at these cliques.

He turns his headphones up louder. A calm comes over him- he

returns to typing.

EXT. SHANICE’S BLOCK - EVENING

Jack exits a city bus and walks up the block happily. He sees
something that slows his stride.

TROY- a mid-30’s African-American male is sitting in front of

Shanice’s house in a very nice car. Troy is nicely dressed,
along with some expensive accessories (see also: bling). Russ
kisses Shanice and runs into the passenger seat of the car.
Jack approaches Shanice’s stoop. He waves to Troy who barely
nods back. Troy’s car takes off fast. Jack turns to Shanice-
who has donned a waitress-like outfit.

JACK
Where’s Russ going?

SHANICE
Oh, Troy’s just gonna watch him
while I’m at work.

JACK
I could’ve watched him.

SHANICE
Oh, you’re sweet. But I think Russ
should spend a little more time
with his father. (beat) You wanna
come in for a little?

JACK
(muttering)
Guy drives like an asshole.

INT. SHANICE’S HOUSE - EVENING

Jack enters the house. He seems slightly perturbed.

JACK
I still don’t get what you saw in
that guy anyway... Troy.

SHANICE
(with an eye roll)
Again Jack? I was young, we all
make poor decisions.
 3.

JACK
I know, I know. But a rapper? Ugh,
I can barely listen to that
garbage.

Shanice leans up to Jack and puts a finger to his mouth

“shhing” him.

SHANICE
Producer. He’s a producer Jack. And
unlike you I’ve enjoyed other
genre’s of music throughout my
life.

She pecks him on the lips and continues getting ready for
work. Jack leans against a dresser- smiling looking at her.

JACK
(sarcastically)
Hey, I just listen to good music.
Jazz till I die, baby. Maybe I’ll
get that tattooed on my back.

She grabs her pocketbook and scoots Jack out the door.

SHANICE
I gotta go to work baby.

JACK
Skippppp it. Don’t make me go home
alone.

SHANICE
(smiling)
Jack c’mon. I need the money.

JACK
Eh I know. I know. Well, when’s the
next time I’ll see you?

SHANICE
(thinks for a moment)
Umm... I have a thing during the
day tomorrow- so tomorrow night?

JACK
Sounds splendid.

They exchange a goodbye kiss and head opposite ways down the
block.
 4.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT NIGHT

Jack sits in his dimly lit apartment. He made himself a

microwavable dinner. JAZZ MUSIC is blasting from the record
player. He looks lonely. Perhaps the records that once
enveloped his life have lost part of their prestige. He
constantly looks out the window down the street- presumably
towards Shanice’s house. He lays in his bed frustrated.

He looks out the window several more times. No Shanice. He

lays in his bed, closes his eyes and falls asleep to the
crackles of a finished record still spinning.

INT. NEWSPAPER HEADQUARTERS - DAY

Jack is typing away in his cubicle- headphones and tweed

jacket on again. A receptionist stands at the entrance of his
cubicle. She sheepishly calls Jack several times and finally
taps him. Jack jumps nearly out of his seat. She looks
concerned.

RECEPTIONIST
Harry wants to see you.

JACK
(nervous, shocked)
Harry? Harry Harry?

RECEPTIONIST
Yes. The Harry.

JACK
I was hoping you meant janitor
Harry. I like him.

RECEPTIONIST
Nope.

Jack wipes runs his hands over his face and hair. He thanks
the receptionist.

Jack makes his way to the other side of the bullpen. He

knocks on a door that reads “Harry Mattlin: CEO Mattlin Press
Inc”

INT. HARRY’S OFFICE - DAY

JACK
(feigning confidence)
Heyyyy Harry.
 5.

HARRY
Jack Bare. How are you? Please take
a seat.

Harry is a big business man. He’s not fat, but he’s

definitely big. Let’s say he could easily palm a basketball.
His suite is expensive. His office is decorated nicely. Jack
sits tentatively in a chair across from him.

HARRY (CONT’D)
Jack I’m going to be honest with
you. It’s something we all know-
but try not to acknowledge. The
newspaper business is a sinking
ship.

JACK
(trying to salvage the
statement)
Well... sales may be down but the
newspaper is a classic medium. It’s
not going any-

HARRY
We’re shutting down “The Bare
Essentials” immediately.

Jack is stunned.

JACK
But... you can’t... My father
started “Bare Essentials” the day
this place began! It’s-

HARRY
Jack, I’m sorry. Cuts are being
made all over the place. It’s time.

Jack is despondent. His eyes well up.

JACK
Harry- when my dad died you guys
let me take over.... I didn’t go to
college. I’ve never had a “real
job”... I... I can’t DO anything
else!

HARRY
It was a very difficult decision,
Jack. We’re all struggling through
these hard times.
 6.

JACK
Then why am I the only one GETTING
FUCKED?!

HARRY
Jack, please lower your voice.

JACK
No Harry. Fuck you.

Harry’s patience has been tested. His sympathy fades. He is

strictly business.

HARRY
It’s not the 60’s er- 50’s. Jazz is
dead. It’s been dead for a long
time- And you should be thankful we
kept you here this long and gave
you work in the first place.

JACK
I should be thankful?! “The Bare
Essentials” is a staple in this
fucking city!

HARRY
Was a staple. When people gave a
shit about jazz.

Jack sits back in his chair, shaking his head. He is biting

his nail.

HARRY (CONT’D)
(his tone has softened)
What we can do is offer you an
exclusive freelancing position. We
would need to tailor the column a
bit, and have you cover more....
contemporary stuff. Local acts and
such.

Neither of the men say anything. Jack refuses to make eye

contact with Harry. He continues to chew intently on his
nail.

HARRY (CONT’D)
We can get you started on it
immediately.

Harry slides over a CD. The artist is “Dizzy P”. Jack grabs
the CD and flips it over. He reads the fine print at the
bottom and sees “Produced/ Mixed: Troy J.” Jack shakes his
head.
 7.

JACK
You’ve got to be fucking kidding
me.

HARRY
Jack- this guy is big around here.
He’s all my kids talk about. Dizzy
P this, Dizzy P that.

Jack throws the CD at a porcelain statue on a bookshelf. It

breaks. It’s loud. The room is tense. Jack gets up and picks
up the CD. He snaps it in half and tosses it on Harry’s desk.

JACK
Your kids are fucking retarded.

A long beat.

HARRY
Get the fuck out.

JACK
Fuck you Harry you sonnofabitch.

The tension builds for another second.

Jack doesn’t move. Harry jumps up and makes his way around
his desk. Jack bolts for the door. Harry’s a big dude.

INT. NEWSPAPER HEADQUARTERS - DAY

Jack is gathering his things at his cubicle- unpinning the

pictures and stacking them on top of the record player. A man
known as SPORTS GUY VINCE ROSHER walks by and whispers:

SPORTS GUY VINCE ROSHER

Dude, shoulda let Harry hit you.
Coulda got a prettyyy penny out of
that settlement.

Jack gives a half smile then returns to packing his stuff. He

gingerly starts go walk out with his things on top of the
record player, the Receptionist stands in front of him.

RECEPTIONIST
Hey Jack.... I’m Sorry-

JACK
Oh. Don’t be, it’s not you’re
fault.
 8.

RECEPTIONIST (Now CHERIE)

Oh... Well actually I’m sorry but
the record player belongs to the
company.

JACK
Wha... No one here even owns a
record.

Cherie points behind her at Harry- staring stone cold at Jack

with his arms crossed. Jack nods and puts the record player
back into his empty cubicle.

RECEPTIONIST
Here.

She quickly and secretly hands him a crumpled piece of paper.

It reads “Johnston Temp Agency” and an address. Jack smiles
and mouths “Thanks”.

He trudges out of the office.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - DAY

The pictures from his office cubicle are now taped on his
refrigerator. Jack calls Shanice several times- but it goes
straight to voice mail. He peeks out the window compulsively.
The last time he peeks, he sees Troy’s car pull up. Shanice
and Russ get out. They wave good-bye and Troy pulls away.

JACK
(to himself, shocked)
What the...

Jack crosses the street and walks half a block to Shanice’s

door. He knocks. She answers, surprised.

SHANICE
Jacky! What are you doing home so
early?

JACK
What was that?

SHANICE
What was what?

JACK
(whispering but still
intent)
You and Russ. I just saw you two
get out of Troy’s car.
 9.

She exhales a bit.

SHANICE
Russ’s class had a presentation at
school today, all the parents were
invited.

JACK
So you decide to keep it a secret
from me?

SHANICE
I know, I know. But Russ brought it
up to Troy so many times. I thought
it might be... weird if you both
went. I figured it’d be better if I
didn’t even bring it up... Sorry.

She smiles in a sarcastically bashful kind of way. She hugs

him.

JACK
Bah. It’s okay. It’s just been...
an awful day.

SHANICE
Wait- why are you home so early?

INT. SHANICE’S KITCHEN DAY

Jack went over the whole firing story with Shanice. They sit
in a sad silence.

SHANICE
(hopeful)
Oh! Oh! Why don’t you start up
you’re own magazine? You’ve been
talking about that for months! You
could name it “The Bare Essentials
Weekly”

JACK
Shanice, I don’t even own a
computer. And I just lost my only
pitiful source of income. How am I
supposed to start up a magazine?

SHANICE
Well... maybe you should invest in
a laptop or something? You could
start up a blog?
 10.

JACK
Guh. That whole blog scene makes me
sick. Bunch of amateurs babbling.

SHANICE
(perturbed)
Well... then what are you going to
do?

JACK
(shakes his head)
I don’t know. I always thought I’d
do the column my whole life. Like
my dad did.

A silent, sad beat. Shanice tentatively breaks it.

SHANICE
Listen, I know you’re not gonna
like it... but I could talk to
Troy, he knows some people in the
music business...

JACK
(upset)
Shanice, please I don’t need any
hand outs from him.

Jack’s attention turns to something on the table. It’s a gas

bill, in Troy’s name.

JACK (CONT’D)
Speaking of which... what’s this?

Jack holds up the bill. Shanice snatches it from him.

SHANICE
What? It’s our gas bill...

JACK
He pays for your gas?

SHANICE
Yeah... he pays for all my
utilities.

Jack is surprised.

SHANICE (CONT’D)
Jack, I’m a waitress. I can’t
support this house and Russ on
those wages.
 11.

JACK
I just... didn’t know you guys were
so attached still.

SHANICE
We’re not. Stop it.

Jack looks down. Shanice gets up from the table.

SHANICE (CONT’D)
I’m gonna start making dinner.

Dinner is prepared and they start to eat. Jack seems distant,

vacant. Shanice and Russ have a conversation. They are
laughing. Shanice looks at Jack who obviously is not paying
attention. She seems concerned for a moment then focuses back
on Russ.

Later, Jack washes the dishes in Shanice’s kitchen. She

approaches and helps dry them off. They are silent.

JACK
(quietly)
Why are you even with me?

Shanice thinks for a moment.

SHANICE
Because... you can tell the year of
any jazz recording just by
listening. And you’re with me
because I’m the only woman that
finds that sexy.

SHANICE (CONT’D)
(beat)
And because I love you.

She looks directly at Jack.

SHANICE (CONT’D)
You have to trust me with this Troy
thing.

JACK
Yeah. I know. I just... I don’t
want to lose you. I’ll have
nothing. I feel like I’m...
nothing.

SHANICE
Jack. Don’t think like that. Don’t
even talk like that. I’m all yours.
 12.

She smiles and hugs him. A slight reassurance comes over

Jack’s face. He pulls out a piece of paper.

JACK
A receptionist gave me an address
to a temp agency. Maybe I’ll swing
by there tomorrow.

SHANICE
(face brightens)
There ya go! Jack Bare- back on his
feet already!

They kiss.

JACK
I’m gonna head home and rest up,
those places open up early.

SHANICE
Alrighty- go get some sleep.

Shanice returns to the dishes. Jack creeps slowly past Russ,

who’s passed out in a lazy boy. On his way out, Jack notices
something on the end table near the door. Scattered amongst
Russ’s school things is a Polaroid of Shanice and Troy
holding Russ- who’s donned a Native American costume.

Jack’s face is emotionless. He puts the picture in an inner

pocket of his tweed jacket. He heads for the door.

INT. TEMP AGENCY - EARLY MORNING

The Temp Agency is bustling. It looks like a cold government

building. Jack is sitting in a row of chairs, on both sides
of him are clean cut 20-somethings in business suits. They
look eager and ready. Jack looks tired and old.

LADY WORKING AT TEMP AGENCY

Bare! Jack Bare! Head to the back.

Jack sits at a desk across from a male Temp Agent. The Temp
Agent is stares curiously at Jack for a moment but masks it
with friendly professionalism. They share introductions. Jack
opens his bag and pulls out a resume- with his one job on it.

TEMP AGENT
That’s a long time at Mattlin
Media. Not bad. Normally we like to
see a more, eh diversified
portfolio, but that’s a pretty
reputable company. Let me just call
you’re supervisor as a reference.
 13.

JACK
(nervous)
Ahh, well you don’t really have to
do that right? He’s probably busy
right now.

TEMP AGENT
Heh, sorry bub. Gotta follow
protocol.

JACK
Yeah but at Mattlin... we don’t
really do reference things. Maybe
you could email... someone or...

TEMP AGENT
Well, I’m sorry Mr. Bare but I have
to follow proper protocol or else-

Jack reaches out and grabs the resume.

JACK
Just gimme that. What kinda work do
you got where I don’t need work
experience then.

The Temp Agent is taken aback. He punches some numbers into

the computer and prints out a piece of paper. He hands it to
Jack. Jack exhales and walks out of the office.

INT. UNFINISHED HOUSE - DAY

Jack is on his knees nailing floorboard into a living room.

All the other men on the site are dressed for the job, unlike
Jack who has his tweed jacket tied around his waste. Jack is
alone in the room aside from a large fat WORKER at the other
end with a boombox by his side.

Jack is morose. His face alternates from anger to sadness.

His nail gun makes a loud THUNK every 5 seconds or so.

His surroundings become irritatingly loud. Buzz saws,

hammering, stomping, nailing, but most of all creeping up
Jack’s spine is blaring RAP MUSIC. It gets louder and louder,
bringing Jack to near physical pain.

It’s coming out of the boombox at the end of the hall. The
fat WORKER next to it is eating a sandwich. Jack makes his
way over rubbing his head.
 14.

JACK
Hey man- can we, uh, maybe change
the station? Put on something a bit
more... universal.

WORKER
(still chomping)
No can do. We listen to 97.6 around
here.

JACK
Ah. Well do you think you could
turn it down a bit maybe?

WORKER
Eh, sorry guy. If I do the guys
downstairs can’t hear it. And
that’s not fair to them is it?

JACK
Well is it fair that I have to
listen to this garbage? Just put on
a station that’s not entirely rap.

WORKER
HEY. Sometimes you just gotta work
with what you’re dealt. Can’t have
your cake and eat it too. Don’t....
uh... there was another one I was
gonna say but... Just- let me enjoy
my sandwich willya?

Jack is emotionless. He turns around and heads back to his

position.

He exhales and kneels back down. He picks up his nail gun but
his hands are shaky. He presses it to the wall and awkwardly
shoots a nail in- bent.

His surroundings slowly become louder again. In the

background, the fat Worker is hounding his sandwich like it’s
his last.

It’s as if the song is actually in Jack’s head. It’s too

loud. LOUD SAD HORNS slowly envelope the scene. Jack’s eyes
are wide. His grip hardens around his nail gun. White
knuckles. The HORNS reach a final crackling precipice.

Jack turns. THUNK.

CUT TO:
 15.

CLOSE-UP WORKERS FACE

His eyes are wide- horrified. Some of his pastrami sandwich

falls out of his mouth. His eyes finally move- they glance
down to his left- there sits his boom box with a nail right
in the center of it.

Jack walks up slowly to the stunned, petrified worker. Jack

picks up the remnants of the mans sandwich. He winds back
real big, pro pitcher style, and BAM he chucks that sandwich
right in the fat fucker’s face. The worker grips his nose in
pain.

JACK
There’s yr fuckin cake.

Jack exits the room.

INT. TEMP AGENCY - DAY

Jack is sitting across from the same Temp Agent as before.

Temp Agent is reading a piece of paper and shaking his head.

TEMP AGENT
We can’t do anything for you Jack.
Normally we issue first strikes...
but this is possibly intent with a
deadly weapon. I mean, this could
be serious.

JACK
(fired up)
I told you! The gun went off by
itself- it was my first time ever
using one! You think I’d be able to
aim one of those things?

TEMP AGENT
Yeah but this worker... Jerry- he
says you assaulted him with a
sandwich at one point?

JACK
I don’t even know who that is! That
dude probably just wants to get
money for his shitty boombox that I
broke by accident.

TEMP AGENT
Actually, we’re docking your pay
and putting it towards a new
boombox.
(MORE)
 16.

TEMP AGENT (CONT'D)

Honestly Jack, you’re lucky the man
isn’t taking this to court.
(on the side) Probably too
embarrassed by this sandwich
fiasco.

Jack bites his nail. The Temp Agent adjusts some papers and
stamps one on top then slides it over to Jack.

TEMP AGENT (CONT’D)

I’m sorry but I’m going to have to
ask you to leave now. I wish you
the best of luck in your future
endeavors.

JACK
Wait... wait c’mon man I need this
money. Just gimme another shitty
job or something just... help me
out.

TEMP AGENT
I’m sorry but you have to leave.

JACK
Then how the FUCK and I supposed to
live? How do I make money?

TEMP AGENT
Well, In a couple weeks you should
be able to file unemployment. As
for now- do you have anything you
could possibly part with?

Jack frowns. His face looks pained.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

A montage of shots. Jack is pacing around his small

apartment, holding a phone to his ear in one hand and a
record in the other. We hear bits of his one sided
conversations.

JACK
Eric? Eric Toya what’s happening
man? Haven’t seen you in awhile.
Listen I got some records I’m
looking to sell- perfect for your
collection... Oh you’re not
collecting anymore? Alright.
 17.

JACK (CONT’D)
Patrick Riggs! What’s up man? I got
a mint Donald Byrd LP with you’re
name on it! I know you were into
him for awhile, and I think this
one would be..... Oh... Strapped
for cash? Yeah I hear ya.

JACK (CONT’D)
(losing steam)
Bruce Whaler- Hey man. Listen I got
an offer you can’t refuse- dozens
of LP’s... You.. Just got rid of
all yours? Well do you want new
ones- cuz I got some good... Yeah.
Alright man. See you around.

JACK (CONT’D)
(defeated)
Duane... I just need you to buy
this shit from me. Or... can you
just lend me some money for a
little while? Duane? Duane?

Jack takes a seat on the edge of his bed and rubs his face
and hair. He lays down and we FADE OUT.

INT. RECORD STORE - MORNING

It’s the next day and Jack is trying to sell some records to
a hipster looking dude behind the counter. There is a large
collection of records in a wagon behind Jack. Jack looks
defeated. Empty. He’s taken on a new face.

JACK
(exhales)
Are you. fucking. kidding me?
That’s a first pressing Thelonius
Monk.

CLERK
15 bucks man.

JACK
Fuuuuuhhh- fine. What about this-
Coltrane’s first LP. Wasn’t even on
Blue Note yet.

CLERK
(inspects the record)
25 bucks.
 18.

JACK
You’re fucking with me right?
Honestly?

CLERK
Dude. Just put this shit up on eBay
then.

JACK
I don’t have a computer.

CLERK
Who doesn’t have a computer.

JACK
(at a loss for words)
...Me... Me I guess? How the fuck
am I supposed to answer that?

CLERK
Listen man- I’ll give you 25 bucks
for that. I can’t sell this shit
around here anyway.

JACK
But this is a record store? It says
it outside.

CLERK
Yeah that’s more of a title now
than anything you know? Like movie
places don’t really have movies,
they have DVD’s.

Jack is blank. He doesn’t say a thing. He slowly begins to

look around the store. He reaches in his pocket for his
wallet and pulls out the Polaroid. It angers him. His face
tightens. He stares at the half-baked Clerk with despise.

He begins to looks up at the ceiling behind the register. He

looks behind him. No cameras. He looks at the register. LOUD
SAD HORNS. Sweat beads up on his forehead. The last customer
in the store has made his way out. It’s just Jack and the
clerk. Jack swallows deep. The clerk looks uneasy.

JACK
I, uh.... I’ll do 30.

CLERK
What?

JACK
30 for the Coltrane.
 19.

CLERK
25.

JACK
Fine.

Jack is embarrassed at himself. He feels weak and stupid. He

bends down and picks up another record to haggle.

JACK (CONT’D)
How much for the whole lot?

We see Jack walking out of the store with an empty wagon. He

leaves the wagon behind him and walks off.

INT. JACK’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Jack is sitting with his head in his hands on the side of his
bed. The stacks of records have dissipated- only several
records are scattered around his record player now. The room
feels barren. His eyes are red, baggy, and slightly watery.
He takes pulls at a bottle of wine. Shanice texts him “At
Work. Sry.” Jack looks out his window habitually.

He pulls out all of the money he got from the record store.
It disgusts him. He throws it across the room.

JACK
Fuck man....fuck.... That’s not
even rent... goddamnit.

He takes the pictures of his idols off the fridge. His

apartment is unbearably bleak without all of the clutter. He
sits by the window.

Jack begins to pace around his small apartment. He steps on

something, today’s newspaper. He scans the paper. His section
has been replaced with a column by The Sports Guy Vince
Rosher. Jack tries to place his face, then remembers the
conversation he had with him. He shakes his head a bit.

JACK (CONT’D)
Damnit Vince, I shoulda let Harry
hit me.

He plops down on his bed. Face down.

Time passes, the sound of a city bus’s brakes catches Jack’s

attention. Shanice walks up the street, tired after work.
Jack is relieved- and about to head outside when he sees
Troy’s car pull up. Troy gets out of the car and picks up
Russ, handing him off to Shanice. She thanks him- putting her
hand on his arm. Jack’s eyes sharpen onto this.
 20.

A quick LOUD SAD HORN. The two depart and Troy leans in and
gives her a cheek to cheek kiss. The HORNS SPIKE. Jack is
broken. His expression is frozen. He moves away from the
window to the kitchen table.

He screams around his apartment. The sound is covered by LOUD

SAD HORNS. He looks primordial. He lands face down onto his
mattress. He’s not necessarily crying, but he’s making some
noise.

He lifts his head up to the side and he is eye to eye with

The Sports Guy Vince Rosher’s picture in the newspaper.

A revelation comes over Jack’s face. He grabs a yellow pages

and searches through it manically. He reaches a certain page
and celebrates when his finger lands on something.

He receives a phone call from Shanice but silences it. He

puts on his tweed jacket and heads out the door.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

We see a sign for “Quarter Past Studios”. Troy’s car is

sitting in the parking lot. Eventually Troy exits the studio,
alone. Jack is excited at the sight of this. His tweed jacket
is inexplicably torn, and his face muddied.

He calms himself. He prepares for his next action. He

stretches a bit and runs about halfway down the block. Troy’s
car begins to pull out of the lot and onto the street. Jack
watches intently.

JACK
(to himself)
Pick up speed. Pick up speed.
C’monn.

Jack readies himself. He closes his eyes and runs out into
the street. He does this prematurely and Troy is able to stop
easily. Jack’s eyes are closed tight and he’s all clinched
up. Troy rolls down his window.

TROY
What the fuck are you doing man?

JACK
(confused)
What?

TROY
What the fuck are you doing man?

Troy gets out of his car and approaches. He recognizes Jack.

 21.

TROY (CONT’D)
Jack, right?

JACK
Wh- what?

TROY
What are you doing man?

Jack snaps back to his fucked-up reality. His plan failed.

JACK
No.. NO NO! FUCK! FUCK YOU!

Troy is beyond confused. Jack is panicky and pacing, still

muttering and cursing. He is on the opposite side of the car
as Troy stomping his foot on the ground, with his shin
hitting against the bumper.

Jack stops for a moment, and looks down at the bumper. Jack
takes a step back and kicks the front headlight with all of
his might- shattering it. Troy is taken aback- shocked even
more.

TROY
YO! YO MAN! THE FUCK!

Jack gives the bumper the same treatment than quickly jumps
on the hood. He is stomping up and down, denting the hood.
Troy tackles his legs, then swings him to the asphalt. Jack
lands head first, fucking his face up pretty good. Troy is
standing over Jack.

TROY (CONT’D)
MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH
YOU?

JACK
We don’t want you around anymore
TROY!

TROY
What?

JACK
You heard me. Why don’t you fuck
off to somewhere else.

TROY
Listen man, I’m only ‘around’ for
Russ... my kid.
 22.

JACK
He doesn’t want you either. You’re
out. I’m in. I’m the better man.
I’m a better man than you’ll ever
be.

TROY
(shaking his head)
Man, you’re fucking crazy.

Troy turns around to get back into his car. Jack gets up and
pushes him. Troy shoots him a look. He’s dead serious.

TROY (CONT’D)
Don’t. Fucking touch me.

Troy turns around to go back into his car and Jack pushes him
harder. Troy spins around and swings, hitting Jack in the
face. He punches Jack several times, knocking him to the
floor. Troy sees Jack lying there. He shakes his head, gets
in his car and speeds away.

Jack gains his footing and starts walking. A smile slowly

comes over his face.

EXT. SHANICE’S BLOCK- EARLY MORNING

Jack is dropped off by a cop car. He is haphazardly bandaged

up. He waves to the cops as they drive away. He is really
selling his injury. He knocks on the door. Shanice answers in
pajamas. She puts her hands over her mouth in shock and
embraces Jack- who winces in pain when she touches him. They
head inside.

INT. SHANICE’S KITCHEN - DAY

Jack and Shanice sit at the kitchen table. Russ is watching

TV nearby. Shanice has her head in her arms. Jack filled her
in on “what happened”.

SHANICE
(upset, baffled)
...So... where is Troy now?

JACK
In a holding cell for the time
being. We’re still working out
details for the trial.

Jack leans in and grabs Shanice’s hands. He puts on a hopeful

smile.
 23.

JACK (CONT’D)
... But Hey- with the settlement
I’ll be able to help out with you
and Russ. And before you know it
I’ll really be back on my feet
making some good money.

Shanice is silent.

JACK (CONT’D)
You know... I may even be able to
start my magazine. And maybe we
could move outta here too. You me
and Russ get a place. The schools
out here are-

SHANICE
(sternly)
I don’t want to move.

JACK
What... What’s the matter?

SHANICE
Why were you there? At Troy’s
studio?

JACK
I told you- I went there to patch
things up with him.
(in a lower voice, trying
to be honest)
And I was actually going to ask him
about helping me out with a job...
I thought I’d surprise you with the
news and you’d be proud of me..

SHANICE
But why were you there at midnight?
In the street?

JACK
Shanice. What is this? I knew he’d
be there at that time. The guy
chased me down the road with his
car!

Shanice finally makes eye contact with Jack. Her eyes are
teary.

SHANICE
(whispering intently)
I... just don’t know.
(MORE)
 24.

SHANICE (CONT'D)
I don’t get it. He never had a
problem with you at all. And he’s
Russ’s father, and now he might go
to jail!

Shanice starts to cry. Jack is surprised by this reaction.

JACK
Shanice... Look at what he did to
me. He coulda killed me. The man is
a danger to society. He snapped.

Shanice can’t look at him. She is sobbing heavily. Russ comes

over to console her. She grabs him and hugs him hard. Jack is
sitting on the other side of the table, placid. He moves to
the other side of the table and hugs her, kissing her head.
She grabs his arm back. They embrace.

SHANICE
(through tears)
Maybe we could find a close suburb.

JACK
(excited)
Yeah? You wanna? We can go as soon
as you want to. I have nothing in
my house so I could pack everything
up here for you-

Jack is interrupted by a ringing in his pocket. He glances at

his phone. His face brightens.

JACK (CONT’D)
Ah. It’s the officer calling me
back. See hunnie? This’ll be over
before you know it.

Shanice smiles slightly and nods her head. Jack takes the
call in the other room.

INTERCUT - SHANICE’S LIVING ROOM/ POLICE OFFICE - DAY

On the other line is Jeffery Garnick, Jacks officer on the

case. All we see is him sitting at his desk.

JEFFERY GARNICK
Jack- It’s Jeffery Garnick, we met
earlier about your case...

JACK
Jeffery of course, how are you?
 25.

JEFFERY GARNICK
Well Jack, I’ll be honest with you,
not too good.

Jack’s facade melts.

JEFFERY GARNICK (CONT’D)

Turns out more evidence was
presented on your case- a uh,
videotape to be exact.

The camera pans out on Jeffery Garnick in his cubicle. He has

a television in front of him playing security footage of the
incident. On the screen we see Jack- manic, screaming and
kicking Troy’s car.

We cut back to Jack. He is pale, empty again.

JEFFERY GARNICK (CONT’D)

We’d like you to come down to the
station immediately and clear some
things up. The possibility of a
counter suite from Troy is likely.
This isn’t a...

Jack is staring off into the distance. The phone slowly sinks
away from his ear and onto the ground- Garnick still talking
on the line. Jack’s head is down. He kneels to the ground and
rubs his face and hair. He breathes in deeply. He begins to
sob slowly.

SHANICE
What is it Jack?

Shanice startles Jack. He didn’t notice her standing several

feet behind him.

JACK
Uhm- Nothing.

SHANICE
What happened Jack?

JACK
Nothing.

SHANICE
Jack. Tell me what really happened.

JACK
Nothing- let’s get out of here what
do you say? We’ll start packing-
 26.

Jack turns around and masks a smile. Shanice sees that he was
crying and is shocked. She’s nervous. Then she’s angry.

SHANICE
What’d you do?! What’d you do to
Troy?!

JACK
I didn’t do anything to Troy?!

SHANICE
Jack you sonnofabitch!

JACK
(breaking)
I just. I just want to be with you
and Russ! I can be his father!
Shanice you’re all I have. I sold
my records-

SHANICE
No one asked you to! No one asked
you to sell your records!
(calmer, honestly)
And no one asked you to be a
father.

That’s it for Jack. He’s pale again. He’s sweaty. He slowly

slinks towards the door- vacant and distant. He opens the
door to leave.

SHANICE (CONT’D)
Jack. What the fuck happened?

JACK
Nothing.

Jack takes the Polaroid from his pocket onto the end table.
He walks out of the house. Shanice picks up the picture and
sobs.

EXT. SHANICE’S BLOCK - DAY

Jack is stumbling down the block. SAD HORNS are playing. He

walks past Harry Mattlin- the shy receptionist cowering
behind him. He walks past a smiling Sports Guy Vince Rosher.
He walks past his Temp Agent. He walks past the fat Worker-
still eating. He walks past the record store clerk lighting
his records on fire.
 27.

He stands in front of the police station. The SAD HORNS

spike.

CUT TO BLACK