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turning to page one
turning to page one
The RIVAL PLAYERS quickly shuffle into the green room, past Andrew, who watches, awed. A VOICE--
TECHNICIAN (O.S.)
Terry!
Andrew turns, glimpses a CORRIDOR through the doorway. Out in the corridor, he sees a TECHNICIAN welcome Fletcher. In the Technician’s arms, a FOUR-YEAR-OLD GIRL -- the Technician’s daughter --
FLETCHER
Mike!
(and, to the girl,)
I’m so sorry, can I have your autograph?
(she blushes, shakes her head)
Are you playing an instrument yet?
TECHNICIAN
She started piano this week.
FLETCHER
Ooo, I need pianists!
(to the girl)
What do you say, you ready for Carnegie
Hall?
The Technician smiles again, looks at the girl. She hides her face in his chest, embarrassed. He and Fletcher laugh.
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Alright, alright.
(looking up at her dad)
Great to see you, Mike.
He leans in. They hug.
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
See you after the show! Cheers!
He steps in, closes the door and addresses his PLAYERS, who are busy sanding their hands, buzzing their lips, preparing:
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Ok, you fucking cocksuckers. E Dorian.
(the non-percussion players lift their instruments)
Hurry the fuck up!! E Dorian.
(they play the Dorian scale)
Double it.
(they play it double-time)
Pink (9/10/2013)
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
G Lydian.
(they play the Lydian scale)
D Lydian Augmented.
(they play it)
(they play it double-time)
Get your music. “Irene” only for Set 1.
Rhythm section out first. Tanner, the kit
is a tonal catastrophe. Get it in tune.
Rhythm and soloists, we’re augmenting the
dominant in measure 45. Everyone else
sharp the nine at bar 106. Got it?
(beat)
Now remember. Lincoln Center and its ilk
use these competitions to decide who they
want. And I am not about to have my
record in that department stained by a
bunch of sour-note flexible-tempo flatter-
than-their-girlfriends dipshits. And
another thing...
(he holds up a music folder)
...if I ever see one of these lying about
unattended to again, I swear to God I
will stop being so polite. That alright
with you, ladies?
PLAYERS
Yes.
A STAGEHAND approaches Fletcher, about to speak to him--
FLETCHER
(almost matter-of-fact)
Get the fuck out of my sight before I
demolish you.
The STAGE HAND nods, slinks away. Fletcher addresses his band--
FLETCHER (CONT’D)
Stage right. In order. Now.
(turns to the STAGE HAND -- who’s short and plump)
That means you too, Mini-Me.