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turning to page one
Andrew drives fast. His cell rings--
ANDREW
Hello??
PIANIST (O.S.)
Neiman, where the fuck are you? Call-time
was 5.
ANDREW
I’m sorry -- I’m on my way. I’m almost--
PIANIST (O.S.) ANDREW We’re on stage in twenty-- I know, I’m almost ther--
PIANIST (O.S.)
--and Fletcher’s got Connolly warming up
in case you don’t show.
ANDREW
God-fucking-damnit, I SAID I was on my
way, you tell the redhead I’m ON MY
FUCKING WAY!!
He throws the phone against his seat.