Triple Bogey On A Par Five Hole

So, who is the artist?

David, um, what's his last name?

It's the girl's last name.

Sally.

David Sally.

- Why, you like it? - Yeah, they're beautiful.

You're a collector?

Nah, they're Nina's.

She just thought they'd look good in here.

Plus, there was no room on the boat.

You don't mind if I write a few things down to the background stuff?

Like, begin with your name.

Sure, Mr. Gravelle.

Anything you want.

My name is Freddie Arnstein.

I'm 40 years old.

I've been with this literary agency for 16 years.

Except for two in the early '80s when I was over William Morris.

Slow. Boring. Nothing to do over there.

I'm divorced.

I've got a six-year-old son. Arnold Arnstein, named after my late father.

He founded this agency 35 years ago.

One more thing.

I'm the best in the business.

You want to know what it takes to be the best in the business?

Yeah.

Humility.

Humility and the ability to listen.

What else? Social security number?

No, no.

Uh, you represent Amanda Levy. Is that right?

That's correct. I'm her agent.

And how long have you been her agent?

Since the beginning. 14 years.

I did her first book deal when she was 13.

"Requiem for Ma and Pa." Did you read it?

Yes, I have. It was brilliant. A pubescent Truman Capote.

Or is that redundant?

Exactly.

What else?

Well, um, how did you meet?

Amanda? How we met?

Yeah, you said she was only 13.

That's right. She was 13. I was 26.

Same age Orson Welles was when he wrote Citizen Kane.

You know, I'm glad you're writing this down, because Gravelle...

What did you say your first name was?

Remy.

Remy, this is the stuff of legends.

It was raining. Thursday.

Late summer, early fall.

September, I think.

I was in my office working on a writer's deal memo.

Papers all over the place.

That's when my father was still alive.

We did things the old-fashioned way.

In fact, he had all the windows taken out.

Why?

His philosophy, was it if you were an agent,

you should be on the phone. You didn't have time to look out the windows.

At any rate, I had this assistant.

This secretary.

Beautiful.

Smart.

But she had a weak bladder.

So when the phone rang, she was in the toilet.

I'll tell you.

Picking up that phone changed my life.

When I think what would have happened if my assistant had picked up the phone,

it sends shivers up my spine.

At any rate, I picked it up.

I hear this voice go, Mr. Arnstein.

I went, yeah, this is Freddie Arnstein.

The voice goes, this is Amanda Levy.

I'm thinking, I don't know, some girl selling Girl Scout cookies or something.

She says, you know, Harry and Sally Levy's daughter?

I'm thinking, I was just at Rosh Hashanah, evening services with my father.

Maybe it was somebody's daughter.

She goes, you know, the couple that was killed on the golf course in Maine?

Have you been reading the papers?

Well, of course I read the papers.

Don't I go to the bathroom?

Don't I take public transportation?

I mean, after all, the Levy story was all over the place.

It wasn't that it was large, but it was strange, unique.

My curiosity was peaked. I didn't have a lunch appointment.

I told her I'd meet her.

So she came here?

Nah, there's the rub.

I had to go to her.

To the hospice, orphanage.

Kids all over the place, creepy.

She was there with her brother and sister.

The young boy, Satch, maybe four or five years old.

The sister, Bree, not even a year old.

Remy, you're doing a screenplay.

You gotta go talk to the family.

Talk to Amanda. She'll tell you a story or two.

Do what I did. Go to the source. Have you seen the ship?

No, not yet.

Geez, I'm late to meet Linesbitt at the Russian Teabag in about 15 minutes.

But anything you want. You call me, okay? Call me. Anything you want.

Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Ornstein. I really appreciated it.

Remy. Freddy. Call me Freddy and take this.

Here you go.

Thank you.

Maybe Freddy Ornstein was right.

Go to the source.

The ship.

So here I am.

If I am to write the screenplay my producer is claiming interest in,

it's only professional to find the story first.

Don't you think?

The home movies may provide a clue as to who Sally and Harry Levy were.

Or at least what relationship between their action and their children's life might be.

Yet, after watching two hours and smoking a pack and a half of Lucky's,

all I've seen is trees, waves, flowers, seagulls, and more trees.

These home movies make as much sense as robbing people with an unloaded gun on a

golf course and getting murdered there for your trouble.

Why are you here, Mr. Gravelle?

I'm researching for an article in the screenplay, but you know that.

Yes, I know that.

But why are you really here?

Do you think this is a game?

Isn't it?

No. Ten years ago I read your book, "The Plot Thickens", terrible title.

But it was one of the books that made me want to be a writer.

And I always wanted to meet you.

And so we meet.

Yes.

What would you like to know, Mr. Gravelle?

Everything.

If you could choose one image of that summer, what would it be?

One image?

Bree on the float by the lake.

Satch with his water wings.

Driving around.

Oh, I don't know.

Probably my mother...

with her Super 8 camera.

Taking role after role of film.

Every time I turned around, there she was with her dumb camera.

Is this is difficult for you?

What?

Well, I'm here to write a movie based on your book about your parents.

You're a writer.

Wouldn't you like to write a screenplay from your novel?

Would I like to perform open-heart surgery on myself?

I don't think so.

Were you aware of what was going on that summer?

I was aware as any 13-year-old might be

of their parents' internal and external struggles.

Not very.

It should have seemed more ominous than it was.

It was very, very hot.

We were in and around that lake a lot.

I can remember laying on the dock in my sleeping bag.

Staring up at the stars.

You could hear a conversation on the lake.

But it was all the way across the lake like it was right next to you.

Aside from the obvious things.

Obvious in retrospect.

I had a pretty lovely summer.

You know, Mr. Gravelle, you really should talk to Satch about all of this.

You might find his insights more profound...

more compelling.

He's the golden child.

And he was always there.

Go ahead.

I can talk and pitch at the same time.

So you know what I'm doing here?

Yeah, yeah.

Amanda told me.

Who's gonna play me in your movie?

Johnny Depp?

I don't have anything to do with it. That comes later.

Oh, that's too bad.

Anyway, nobody can play me.

Brando's too old.

Dean is dead.

So what do you want to know, Mr. Gravelle?

Tell me about your parents.

What's to tell?

That we're pathetic losers.

Fucking wackos.

- Did you talk to Amanda? - Yeah.

Amanda's a fucking saint.

She's been living with the motherfucking gods so long she forgets she's human.

Motherfucking gods.

That'd be a good name for my new band.

I like that.

You're a real Bob Hope.

Bob Hope?

Give me a break, fucking Bob Hope.

- You know what they call me? - I'm all ears.

You're all assholes, pal.

They call me Minnesota Satch.

Tell me about that day.

What day?

The day your parents were killed.