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FORMERLY TATTINGER’S
Episode One
"Half a Loaf..."
Written by
Tom Fontana
Channing Gibson
John Tinker
EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS
Bruce Paltrow
Tom Fontana
PRODUCERS
Robert DeLaurentis
John Tinker
Channing Gibson
COORDINATING PRODUCER
Jim Finnerty
DIERCTOR
Art Wolff
February 16, 1989
ACT ONE
FADE IN
BLACK SCREEN Beat, then white letters are typed rapidly,
reading
March 7, 1989
Restaurant owner Nick Tattinger
calls his ex-wife.
CUT TO
EXTREME C.U. NICK TATTINGER'S MOUTH ON PHONE
NICK
Hillary, Arnold Weppner, our
accountant, has run off to Brazil
with all of our money.
CUT TO
EXTREME C.U. HILLARY TATTINGER'S MOUTH ON PHONE
HILLARY
All of your money?
CUT TO
EXTREME C.U. NICK'S MOUTH ON PHONE
NICK
And all of your money.
CUT TO
EXTREME C.U. HILLARY'S MOUTH ON PHONE
HILLARY
All of my money?
CUT TO
EXTREME C.U. NICK'S MOUTH ON PHONE
NICK
And all of my money.
SOUND OF FAINTING WOMAN HITTING GROUND
NICK (CONT.)
Hillary?
CUT TO
BLACK SCREEN White letters typed rapidly, reading
March 9, 1989
Restaurant owner Nick Tattinger
makes a decision.
CUT TO
NOT SO EXTREME C.U. NICK'S MOUTH ON PHONE
NICK
Hillary, I want you to look after
the restaurant while I'm gone.
CUT TO
NOT SO EXTREME C.U. HILLARY'S MOUTH ON PHONE
HILLARY
Gone? Where are you going?
CUT TO
C.U. HILLARY'S EAR ON PHONE
NICK (O.C.)
Rio. To track down our accountant
and recover our life savings.
EAR FALLS OUT OF FRAME. SOUND OF FAINTING WOMAN HITTING
GROUND.
CUT TO
C.U. NICK'S EYES
NICK (CONT.)
Hillary?
CUT TO
BLACK SCREEN White letters typed rapidly, reading
March 28, 1989
Restaurant owner Nick Tattinger
calls from Rio -- collect.
CUT TO
C.U. NICK ON HAND MIKE. LOTS OF STATIC. IN B.G., VOICES
ARGUING IN PORTUGUESE.
NICK
Hillary, Arnold Weppner died
without leaving a trace of our
cash. Don't faint. Over.
CUT TO
C.U. HILLARY ON PHONE
HILLARY
Faint? Why would I faint? Over.
CUT TO
C.U. NICK ON HAND MIKE
NICK
I'm desperate to get home. All I
dream about is coming to the
restaurant for a nice, quiet meal,
surrounded by old trusted friends,
with the soft tinkling of the piano
in the background. Over.
CUT TO
C.U. HILLARY ON PHONE
HILLARY
Nick, I can't for you to see what
I've done to the place. Over.
CUT TO
C.U. NICK ON HAND MIKE
NICK
Done to the place?
CUT TO
INT. MAIN ROOM - NIGHT
Paula Abdul belts out "Straight Up" over the SOUND SYSTEM at
maximum volume. NICK enters, stops.
NICK'S POV LIGHTING is dim, dramatic, the atmosphere smoky,
candles on each table. Place is jammed with wide variety of
New York TYPES, all ages, dressed in everything from jeans to
formals. PEOPLE crowd three-deep at the bar, overflow onto
Stairs, Second Floor Landing. Loud MUSIC emanates from
Private Dining Room, where PEOPLE dance.
NICK crosses to Maitre d' Station, where a beautiful GIRL,
with shoulder-length, blunt cut jet-black hair, all in black,
sits on stool, staring out at room silently, body moving to
the music.
NICK
Excuse me --
SILENT GIRL gazes at NICK, doesn't answer. SPIN, late
twenties, post-modern, wearing head-set microphone attached
to portable telephone, approaches in a hurry. A man who has
somehow turned geekiness into hip, SPIN wears a boxy Japanese
suit, mandarin-collared shirt, thick-soled Oxford shoes.
SPIN's hair is a study in impeccable disorganization; his
glasses Phillip Johnson. SPIN looks at NICK, clicks fingers.
SPIN
Oh, hi. How're ya? Rappaport,
right? Party of six. This way.
NICK
I'm not Rappaport.
SPIN
Oh, sorry. Debevoise, party of
four.
NICK
Tattinger, party of one.
SPIN
Not much of a party. Tattinger...
You have the same name as the
owner.
NICK
I am the owner.
SPIN
Well, there you go.
NICK
Who are you?
SPIN
(into microphone)
Tattinger's.
(indicates to NICK)
Phone.
(into microphone)
Bobby, hi... It's lifeless now.
Who goes out before two... What?
No, we had to get rid of the baby
elephant.
NICK reacts.
SPIN (CONT.)
Yeah, some health code violation.
But it wasn't a total loss. Try
the new special dumbo gumbo.
(to NICK)
I'm Spin.
NICK
Spin?
SPIN
No apostrophe.
NICK
Obviously, I'm in the middle of
some kind of hallucination.
SPIN
Because everything's been
transmogrified?
(looking around; with
genuine pride)
It's good, isn't it?
NICK
Where did you come from?
SPIN
(into microphone)
Tattinger's...
(to SILENT GIRL)
Table for eight at ten thirty?
SILENT GIRL doesn't look at him, continues grooving to the
MUSIC. SPIN talks into microphone again.
SPIN (CONT.)
Sorry, booked solid.
(back to NICK)
Now, what did you want to know?
NICK
Who hired you?
SPIN
Your partners, Hillary and Sid.
NICK
My -- Where are my partners?
SPIN
(pointing)
Office. Bar.
(sees CUSTOMERS)
Huckleberry, Jinx...
SPIN pushes past NICK toward CUSTOMERS. NICK turns to cross
toward bar, stops.
NICK'S POV Above heads at crowded bar, a liquor bottle arcs
through the air, followed by another. PEOPLE cheer.
NICK makes his way through CROWD, stepping between two WOMEN,
one dressed in halter top, bare midriff, big bell bottoms,
and beehive hairstyle, the other dressed in silver-mesh chain
mail.
CHAIN MAIL
High in cholesterol? How can it
be, it's bodily fluid.
NICK keeps walking toward bar, parting his way through last
few PATRONS. Reveal SID WILBUR, juggling bottles, glasses, a
la Tom Cruise in "Cocktail".
NICK
Sid.
Cheering CROWD muscles NICK out of the way. He turns,
crosses out of FRAME. SID finishes, AUDIENCE applauds. SID
bows, looks in mirror, straightens tie. As he turns back to
take another bow, he moves a few steps to his left, bows. He
turns to face mirror again, but instead of his reflection he
sees NICK through shelf of bar glasses.
SID
You're home.
NICK
That's debatable. What're you
doing behind the bar?
SID
Ever try mixing drinks from in
front?
NICK
I mean, why are you bartending?
SID
This is how I started in the
business. I never felt comfortable
being maitre d'.
MAN at bar, with half-shaved head, shouts to SID.
MAN AT BAR
Hey, Sid, where's my Fuzzy Navel?
SID
Just above your belt.
PATRONS laugh.
SID (CONT.)
They laugh at all the old jokes.
They love me.
(leans in to NICK)
Do you remember how to make a Fuzzy
Navel?
NICK
Peach schnapps and orange juice.
SID
(calling to MAN AT BAR)
Have that up in a minute.
(crosses off)
NICK
Hey, Sid, wait, where're you --
(looks up, sees HILLARY)
HILLARY
Oh, Nick.
(showing off her new
clothes)
Well, what do you think?
(indicates room)
It's good, isn't it? Did you see
the dance floor?
She turns NICK to what was formerly the Private Dining Room.
Among others, an EAST VILLAGE GIRL, wearing black sleeveless
turtleneck and short black leather skirt, dances with STOCK
BROKER, dressed like Michael Douglas in "Wall Street".
STEREO blares song by Living Color.
NICK
What the hell happened to my
restaurant?
SHEILA BRADEY sits at table with group of young AFRICAN
AMERICANS.
SHEILA
Well, well, well. Look who ambled
in from the Amazon.
NICK
Sheila, what're you doing?
SHEILA
Having fun, for the first time
since I came here.
NICK
Correct me if I'm wrong, I hired
you as head chef.
SHEILA
Bingo.
NICK
To cook food.
SHIELA
Bingo, bingo.
NICK
In the kitchen.
SHEILA
You see, there's the difference
between you and Hillary. You
perceive the job of a chef as
someone serving only her mix
master.
(stands; to group at
table)
Enjoy the meal. Let me know if the
brulee makes you creme.
SHEILA, NICK, and HILLARY continue across Main Room.
SHEILA (CONT.)
Whereas Hillary, with Spin's
encouragement, allows a chef to
step out of the grease pit.
Customers enjoy having a chance to
interface with me. Like this.
As they pass table, SHEILA addresses MAN, eating plate of
oysters.
SHEILA (CONT.)
Loving those oysters?
MAN WITH OYSTERS
Well...
SHEILA
Talk to me, honey.
MAN WITH OYSTERS
I'm not usually wild about malpeques. Are you hiding some
belons in the kitchen?
SHEILA
Shucks. Would I shuck these
shellfish if they weren't the
tastiest treats this side of low
tide?
(leans over table; points)
Oh, look, a pearl.
As MAN bends over his plate, looks. SHEILA lightly taps his
nose toward the oysters on plate.
SHEILA (CONT.)
Ho!
MAN and SHEILA laugh, he loves it. NICK, appalled, pulls
SHEILA away from table.
NICK
I want to talk to both of you.
NICK starts off. SHEILA and HILLARY exchange a look, not
following. NICK stops, turns back.
NICK (CONT.)
Now.
SHEILA and HILLARY follow NICK off to side.
HILLARY
Don't nit-pick, Nick.
SHEILA
Finally, Tattinger's has what it's
always been lacking. A sense of
humor.
NICK
(defensive)
Excuse me. The personality of a
restaurant trickles down from the
owner.
SHEILA
That'd make you a drip.
HILLARY
While you were gone, Sheila and I
had an insightful, far-reaching
discussion about what was wrong
with Tattinger's. In the past, our
customers were so... so --
SHEILA
Old and stodgy.
HILLARY
Yes.
SHEILA
They paid for their meals by
endorsing their Social Security
checks.
HILLARY
The most asked-for special was
seafood puree.
SHEILA imitates toothless person gumming food.
HILLARY (CONT.)
And the music... Quasi-Gershwin,
pseudo-Cole Porter -- lush,
romantic, boring.
SHEILA imitates snoring.
HILLARY (CONT.)
Tattinger's needed urgency,
spontaneity. A sense of life and
death.
NICK
For crying out loud, this isn't a
hospital.
SHEILA
(spots someone across
Room; calls)
Ooh, hi Morgan.
(to NICK)
I'd love to chew the fat, but it's
bad for your health. And there's
my editor.
NICK
Your editor?
SHEILA
For my cookbook. Sheila Bradey
Buns Up.
SHEILA leaves. NICK glares at HILLARY.
HILLARY
Nick, before you kill me, think
very seriously about the effect a
long murder trial will have on our
children.
NICK
Ever since the day I met you, all
through our marriage, all through
our divorce -- I take a step, you
trip me. You have been responsible
for every single catastrophe in my
life.
HILLARY
Oh? What about your flunking out
of college? Is that my fault?
NICK
No, but --
HILLARY
And your rotten relationship with
your mother? Is that my fault?
NICK
No, but --
HILLARY
And that time you called the Mayor
a --
NICK
Okay, okay. Hillary, when I left,
I asked you to run things. I
didn't mean alter, transform -- but
maintain, like a caretaker
government. Lame duck, pro team --
HILLARY
You told me to do what I believed
was right. To trust my instincts.
NICK
Yeah, well, your instincts stink.
HILLARY
I met Spin at memory class. Then
one week I forgot to go, and he
stopped by here to see if I was all
right. Ever since he arrived, we
had to start turning customers
away. You see, he was a maitre d'
at M.K., then at Mars --
NICK
I know those New York fad artists.
The popularity of any joint they
work in burns itself out in six
months.
HILLARY
Spin's a sweet boy. Nina and
Winnifred adore him. He's re
structured the menu with Sheila,
helped Sid re-organize the bar,
worked with Louis on seating --
he's made this a nightery of the
nineties.
NICK
And what was it before?
HILLARY
You read the review in Gourmand
Magazine. You saw the ratings --
every other restaurant gets three
stars. We got a moon.
Speechless, NICK turns and walks into Kitchen. On HILLARY,
trying to smile,
CUT TO
EXT. NEW YORK CITY - MORNING
Establishing. Early Spring.
INT. MAIN ROOM - MORNING
HILLARY enters, climbs stairs, passing JANITOR polishing
banister.
HILLARY
Good morning, Millard.
JANITOR nods, HILLARY continues up stairs, crosses Second
Floor Landing, opens door to NICK's Office, exits.
INT. NICK'S OFFICE - MORNING
HILLARY enters. Room is DARK.
HILLARY
Who closed the blinds?
As HILLARY starts across Office, she trips and falls, letting
out a little scream. LAMP next to couch is clicked ON to
REVEAL NICK, sitting up on couch-bed, HILLARY sprawled across
his lap. Office is strewn with NICK's clothes from
suitcases. HILLARY sits up, as she and NICK look at each
other with surprise.
HILLARY (CONT.)
What are you doing here?
(beat)
Working.
(beat)
Well, I --
NICK
What are you doing here?
(beat)
Sleeping.
(beat)
Well, I --
They both stop.
HILLARY
You first.
NICK
Without any money, I can't afford
my suite at the Waldorf. For now,
I'm bunking here in the office.
Your turn.
HILLARY
(stands, straightens
herself; crosses to desk,
sits)
You and I have a lot of loose ends
to tie up.
NICK
You never liked bondage when we
were married, but --
(pats bed)
HILLARY
Item A The poultry's been pretty
paltry, so I called Frank --
NICK
Wait, wait, wait.
(climbs out of bed, nude)
Last night, we settled the fact
that now that I'm back --
HILLARY
I refuse to discuss anything until
you cover yourself.
NICK
We lived together for thirteen
years. You've seen me, warts and
all.
HILLARY
Yes. And I thought you were going
to have that one removed.
NICK, irritated, picks up sheet, wraps it around himself,
toga-style. HILLARY looks at urn on desk.
HILLARY (CONT.)
What's this knick-knack, Nick?
NICK
Arnold Weppner's ashes.
HILLARY
Why do you have his mortal left
overs?
NICK
Wasn't my choice. Brazil has very
strange funeral laws. A foreigner
dies in Rio, they go bananas,
coconuts, and whatever the hell
else they export. To get him out,
I had to mule-train Arnold's corpse
to French Guiana.
HILLARY
Don't they call it something else
now?
NICK
Then I hopped a tramp steamer to
Belize.
HILLARY
Puleeze.
NICK
But, customs told me I had to take
the carcass to Caracas, so I hired
a sea plane, which caught fire and
crashed in Guatemala. I hope
Arnold wanted to be cremated.
HEAR CLICK-CLACKING SOUND O.C. Door opens, and MR. SPOONS,
middle-aged, playing the spoons, enters, followed by SPIN and
SILENT GIRL. SILENT GIRL crosses to couch-bed, sits, stares,
stretching.
NICK (CONT.)
Uh, Spin...
SPIN
Shh. This is the good part.
MR. SPOONS crescendos, then finishes.
SPIN (CONT.)
Hillary, Nick, meet Mr. Spoons.
Winner of the 1984 World's Spoon
Playing Championship --
NICK
Get the fork outta here.
MR. SPOONS does rim shot with spoons.
SPIN
Could we beg your pardon?
MR. SPOONS exits, playing spoons.
SPIN (CONT.)
Tuesday is our slowest night.
Hillary and I thought we should
have some kind of event.
HILLARY
Yes, but isn't musical silverware a
tad corny?
SPIN
As Kansas in August.
SPIN spins. NICK looks at HILLARY, who smiles.
HILLARY
That's why we call him Spin.
NICK
No spoons, Spin. This is a
restaurant, not The Gong Show.
SPIN
The what?
NICK
Never mind.
SPIN
(shrugs)
Okay.
(turns to go; stops, faces
NICK)
Togas are coming back.
(exits)
NICK
Hillary, I --
(sees SILENT GIRL on couch
bed)
You too, out.
SILENT GIRL goes. NICK turns to HILLARY.
NICK (CONT.)
Who is she, anyway?
HILLARY
Her name's Marti. They met at a
horse ranch.
NICK
Well, you tell Spin and Marti --
(stops, looks at Hillary)
Their days are numbered.
HILLARY
All right, so he has a few off-beat
ideas -- I didn't even tell you
about the petting zoo -- but
because of him, we're mersh.
NICK
Mersh?
HILLARY
Mad Ave. for commercial. A hit.
NICK
For now. Maybe. Okay. I looked
over the books -- they're a mess.
It doesn't matter how much cash
comes in, if you spend all the
profit on gimmicks, stunts, and re
decoration.
HILLARY
What, you're going back to the way
things were run before? Into the
grounds?
NICK
No. I don't want to tamper with
success, just get it under control.
But there's no need to go over any
of this with you because you don't
work here anymore.
HILLARY
I tossed and turned for hours last
night... then I got up and made
some chamomile. The next thing I
knew, I found myself digging
through egg shells, melon rinds and
those little twisty-twirly jobbies
that come on loaves of bread.
NICK
So far, you've only left out the
point of whatever it is you're
talking about.
HILLARY
Two dunks.
NICK
Basketball?
HILLARY
I threw the tea bag away after two
dunks. That bag was good for
three, maybe four cups. Now that
I'm destitute, I have to look at
the world differently.
NICK
You already see things out of
focus. But I don't want you to
worry. Everything will work out
fine. Just trust me.
HILLARY
The welfare of my daughters is at
stake and this establishment is the
only security they have. I need to
guard that. I've decided that
we're going to run the restaurant
together.
NICK
What? We couldn't run our marriage
successfully.
HILLARY
This is different. This is a
business. Now to find out if
you're cheating on me, I just have
to check the books.
NICK
No. Never. Not till hell freezes
over.
HILLARY
Well, get out your mukuluks,
Beelzebub. I'm staying. If you'll
excuse me, I'll go discuss the
lunch menu with Sheila.
HILLARY exits. NICK shouts after her.
NICK
All of a sudden bailing out of a
fiery Grumman Goose over Guatemala
seems like a fond memory.
He slams door shut. Arnold Weppner's ashes fall to the
ground, smashing into bits.
NICK (CONT.)
Serves you right.
On NICK's look,
FADE OUT.
END OF ACT ONE