An Original, Feature-Length Screenplay by Mark Barkawitz

FADE IN:

EXT. DOWNTOWN-LATE AFTERNOON

It’s rush hour in springtime. Traffic is heavy. A late model car splashes through a puddle and hurries to make the yellow light at the intersection. Another car honks. A CROWDED bus spews exhaust, as it pulls away from the curb. On the sidewalk, a new pair of running shoes pounds the pavement. Their owner-a bearded RUNNER with an athletic build, late twenties-wears running shorts and a half-shredded T-shirt, a baseball cap backwards on his head, and wrap-around sunglasses to shield his eyes. He weaves between and past other PEDESTRIANS on the sidewalk, dodges cars in the crosswalk, then DISAPPEARS around the corner of a building and down an alley.

EXT. OLD TOWN-LATE AFTERNOON

The Runner enters the older section of the city, which is in a state of decay: businesses are closed and boarded-up, trash clutters the streets, and a HOMELESS MAN in tattered clothes sits on the sidewalk, smokes. The Runner runs past.

EXT. INDUSTRIAL SECTION-LATE AFTERNOON

The Runner passes a large factory, whose concrete stacks belch funnel clouds of gray smoke into the sky. The large sign out front reads: “PARKER ENTERPRISES.” Its parking lot is filled with cars, a few of which ENTER and EXIT.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL SECTION-LATE AFTERNOON

The Runner treks through the middle-class neighborhood, where a middle-aged CONTRACTOR drives a pick-up truck AWAY from the framework of a new house behind temporary fencing with a locked gate. As the street steepens, the Runner passes DOGS barking behind fences, KIDS jumping rope, and sprinklers watering lawns.

EXT. VACANT LOT-LATE AFTERNOON

The Runner cuts across a large, empty, dirt field, which lies just below and adjacent to the city park.

EXT. PARK AT TOP OF HILL-LATE AFTERNOON

The Runner passes an OLDER WOMAN with a POODLE on a leash. The poodle barks.

At the concrete drinking fountain, the Runner stops, catches his breath, then bends over for a long drink. From OUT OF FRAME, a baseball rolls to a stop near his feet. He picks it up, examines it, then deftly grips the red seams with his fingers, as if about to deliver a pitch.

BOY’S VOICE
(from OFF-CAMERA)

Hey, Mister!

Across a grass outfield, WILLY WOOD, a boy of ten, races towards him. He wears sweats and a cap, with a fielder’s glove on one hand.

WILLY

That’s our ball!

Willy approaches the Runner, who smiles, tosses the ball back. Willy drops the throw, sighs, bends to pick up ball.

RUNNER

Next time catch it in the pocket.

WILLY

The what?

RUNNER

The web of your glove. The pocket.
(pointing into Willy’s glove) Here. Not on your palm, where it can bounce off.

Willy thinks about it. The Runner bends for another drink.

WILLY

Who are you?

RUNNER
(wiping his mouth)

Just an old baseball player.

WILLY

I never seen you on no baseball card or nothin’.

RUNNER
(half-laughing to himself)

Nope, no baseball card.

ANOTHER BOY’S VOICE
(calling from OFF-CAMERA)

Hey, Willy! Hurry up!

EXT. LITTLE LEAGUE DIAMOND-LATE AFTERNOON

A diverse and disheveled-looking group of BOYS and one GIRL, in assorted caps and clothes with baseball gloves, stares back from the infield. LARRY-twelve and the biggest of the kids-yells back:

LARRY

Throw the ball, Spaz!

EXT. PARK AT TOP OF HILL-LATE AFTERNOON

At the drinking fountain, Willy tells the Runner:

WILLY

I gotta go, Mister.

As Willy runs back to his friends, the Runner turns the bill of his cap forward, shading his eyes from the low-lying sun, and stares after the young boy.

RUNNER
(out loud to himself)

See you, Willy.

EXT. BEHIND BACKSTOP-LATE AFTERNOON

A brand new Volvo SUV DRIVES IN and parks, raising a cloud of dust. The driver, ALFRED BAXTER, STEPS OUT. He is stressed-out, wearing a wrinkled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, and pocket protector, above slacks and wing-tips. From the back of the SUV, he pulls out the equipment bag, which is almost too heavy for him to carry, spilling some balls and bats in the process.

EXT. LITTLE LEAGUE DIAMOND-LATE AFTERNOON

Larry, Willy, and the other kids stare over uncertainly at Alfred Baxter struggling with the equipment bag.

LARRY

Oh, brother. Our new manager.

SAM, one of the smaller boys, admits to Willy:

SAM

It’s too bad your mom isn’t dating Derek Jeter insteada’ my dad’s tax accountant.

Willy just nods. Baxter drags the equipment bag onto the dirt infield, his wing-tips immediately covered in dust.

BAXTER

Sorry I’m late, Gentlemen.
(spotting only girl) An-and you, of course, Osbourne. I’m Manager Baxter. Why don’t we all get in line for calisthenics.

The young players grumble, dropping their gloves and ball, to form an uneven line. As Baxter leads them in jumping jacks, which the kids follow unenthusiastically, the pens spill out of his pocket protector. He struggles to pick them up without breaking tempo:

BAXTER

. . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .

LARRY
(loud enough for other kids to hear)

I thought this was baseball, not Pick-up-Stix.

A few of the others laugh. Willy glances across the outfield, but the Runner is no longer by the drinking fountain. They continue to jump out of rhythm.

INT. VOLVO DRIVING ON STREET-EVENING

Baxter drives. Willy sits silently in passenger seat with glove and ball. Prolonged silence.

BAXTER

Practice went well, don’t you think?

Willy shrugs.

BAXTER

Yesirree. Pretty darn well.

Willy opens glove on his lap, places ball in the pocket, closes glove again, then stares out the side window into the pending darkness.

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM-EVENING

The front door of the small apartment opens and Willy ENTERS with glove and ball. From OFF-CAMERA, a woman’s voice asks:

WOMAN’S VOICE

How was practice?

Through the kitchen doorway, MARY WOOD ENTERS partially. She is attractive, late twenties, and wears office attire, except for the pot-holders on her hands.

WILLY
(quoting; without stopping)

“Pretty darn well.”

MARY
(correcting his grammar)

I think that should be “good,” Honey.

Baxter ENTERS through still-open front door, closing it behind. He smiles at Mary.

MARY

Thanks for bringing him home, Alfred.
(calling after Willy) Wash-up for dinner, Honey.
(to Baxter) Can you stay for dinner?

BAXTER

Mary, have you ever known me to say no?

She smiles, DISAPPEARS back into kitchen. Alfred FOLLOWS. On the carpet, two sets on dusty footprints, one Willy’s, one Alfred’s, mark off in different directions.

INT. APARTMENT BATHROOM-NIGHT

The shower water sprays over Willy’s head. He stands motionless, eyes closed.

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN-NIGHT

Baxter sits at the kitchen table, where three plates and sets of silverware are already in place. Mary works at the stove. He crosses his legs, notices the dust on his wing-tips and floor. Cleans up with paper napkin before Mary notices. Timer goes off, startling Baxter, who hides dirty napkin in his pocket. Mary removes casserole dish from oven.

BAXTER

Mmm. Smells good.

MARY

Nothing special. Just tuna casserole.

BAXTER

Well, it’s special to me. I’d be eating take-out-home alone.

MARY
(calling into apartment)

Come on, Honey. Dinner’s ready.
(serving Baxter)

BAXTER

A man could get used to this.

MARY

So I’ve been told.

Mary sets down casserole, goes to sink to pour three glasses of milk. Baxter gets up to wash his hands in the sink. As he turns on the water, he leans over to kiss Mary’s cheek, just as Willy ENTERS doorway, hair wet, cleanly dressed. He stares over at them.

CUT TO: kitchen table, where Willy, Mary, and Baxter eat. Baxter smiles. Mary smiles.

CUT TO: kitchen sink filled with soapy water and dirty dishes. Mary washes, hands dishes to Baxter, who rinses, puts dishes in dish rack.

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM-NIGHT

With the TV playing across the room, Baxter and Mary sit on the couch. He puts his arm around her shoulders; she leans comfortably against him. He smiles again.

INT. WILLY’S BEDROOM-NIGHT

Willy sits at his desk with pencil, paper, and open math textbook. He stops calculating numbers, pensively props his chin on his hand, absently taps pencil on desk.

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM-NIGHT

On TV, an ACTOR and ACTRESS stare into one another’s eyes, then kiss passionately. On the couch, Baxter likewise leans close to kiss Mary. When OUT OF FRAME:

WILLY’S VOICE

I need help, Mom.

Baxter quickly sits back and removes his arm from Mary. They both stare at Willy IN doorway.

MARY

What’s wrong, Honey?

WILLY

It’s a whole page of math. I need help. It could take awhile.

BAXTER
(offering)

Hey, I’m pretty good with the numbers. Bet we can knock it out in a few minutes.

Willy gapes back at Baxter, then looks to his mom for help.

MARY

Thanks, Alfred. But you’ve done enough already today. And tomorrow is a school day.

In the doorway, Willy nods back. Alfred sighs dejectedly, but tries to keep from looking too disappointed.

INT. WILLY’S BEDROOM-NIGHT

Standing at the open doorway in his pjs, Willy calls out into hallway:

WILLY

Night, Mom.

MARY
(off-camera)

Night, Honey. Don’t forget to say your prayers. I’ll tuck you in later.

Willy closes the door, turns off light. Moonlight shines in through window. He turns down covers in his bed, starts to get in, then remembers. He kneels next the bed and prays:

WILLY

Dear God, please don’t let Mom marry Mr. Baxter. Or anyone else. Amen.

He climbs into bed and pulls the covers over himself.

EXT. STREET IN FRONT OF APARTMENT BUILDING-NEXT MORNING

A faded. much-traveled Suburban stops at the curb, honks. From out of the apartment building, Mary in coat and business outfit and Willy in hooded sweatshirt and backpack APPEAR, each carrying brown bag lunches. They hurry to get in old SUV at curb.

INT. SUBURBAN-MORNING

CAROL OSBORNE sits behind steering wheel. She is Mary’s age, but dressed more casually in sweatshirt and jeans. A metal lunch box rests on the center console. Two take-out cups of Starbucks are in the drink holders. Her daughter MAX-the only girl on Baxter’s team-sits in the back seat. As Mary GETS IN front and Willy IN back:

MARY

Morning, Carol.
Hi, Max.

WILLY

Morning, Mrs. Osborne

Willy and Max don’t acknowledge each other for fear it might be construed as a sign of interest. As Carol pulls away from the curb, Mary squirms in her seat, reaches under herself, and removes a baseball.

CAROL
(explaining)

Oh, yeah. Baxter drafted me. I’m Team Mom now.

MARY

Congratulations.

CAROL

Thanks, but I think car size was the determining factor. Apparently, big is better.
(looking over)

MARY
(sipping coffee)

I wouldn’t know.

EXT. PUBLIC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL-MORNING

PARENTS and CHILDREN walk towards the front of the school and DISAPPEAR inside. Along with other cars unloading MORE CHILDREN at the curb, the Suburban PULLS IN and stops. Willy and Max GET OUT with back packs and lunches. They wave goodbye, then hurry towards building. As they DISAPPEAR inside, Suburban drives away from curb.

INT. SUBURBAN DRIVING ON STREET

Carol and Mary are as last we saw them.

CAROL

So how was Thursday night dinner with Baxter?

MARY

Fine.

CAROL

Has he asked you yet?

MARY

Asked me what?
(sipping coffee again)

CAROL

Don’t play dumb. He will, you know. He’s just the kind. He traded in the Volvo for a Volvo SUV. And he’s coaching your son’s baseball team.

MARY

Alfred likes baseball.

CAROL

Does he? He’s not exactly a jock, you know.

MARY

Why else would he-
(stopping herself)
Look. Can’t I just date a nice, comfortable guy without it turning into Romeo and Juliet?

CAROL

I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Baxter that?

EXT. INDUSTRIAL SECTION-MORNING

As graveyard ends and day shift begins, cars drive IN and OUT of the entrance to Parker Enterprises. The Suburban turns IN and parks in the parking lot in front of the smoke-belching factory. On the sidewalk, the Runner runs INTO FRAME and past entrance.

EXT. CONSTRUCTION SITE/RESIDENTIAL SECTION-MORNING

The temporary gate is open and the Contractor’s truck is already parked in the dirt in front of the framed skeleton of a new house. The burly Contractor uses a nail-gun to affix fire-blocks between two-by-four walls. On the sidewalk, the Runner runs INTO FRAME, slows, approaches the Contractor, who stops shooting nails.

RUNNER

I need a job.
(removing sunglasses)
You look as if you could use another pair of hands.

CONTRACTOR

Maybe. You don’t look familiar.

RUNNER

I’m new around here.

CONTRACTOR

You ever work construction?

RUNNER

Yep.

CONTRACTOR

Can I depend on you?

RUNNER

Yep.

CONTRACTOR

You ever been arrested?

CONTINUED