Someday You'll Be Sorry

INT. BALLROOM – NIGHT

JUAN, dressed in a black suit with red tie, hair cropped, strides into a large ballroom. A thin cloud of smoke wafts in the air from all the people smoking cigarettes and cigars. Couples, elegantly dressed as though they were from the Roaring ‘20s, dance in the middle of the room. They are surrounded by candlelit tables with fine white cloths, champagne bottles and glasses scattered about. The room is softly lit by crystal chandeliers that hang above them.

At one end of the ballroom, facing the crowd, is a jazz band. They are handsomely dressed in suits. The pianist plays the high, almost twinkly intro notes to Louis Armstrong’s “Someday You’ll Be Sorry”, before the band jumps in. Standing front-center beside a vintage microphone, alit by a spotlight, LOUIS ARMSTRONG blows his trumpet. A bassist, trombonist, clarinet player, and drummer accompany them.

Juan makes his way around the tables. He walks toward the Art Deco style-bar, where several gentleman puff on cigars, their backs against the counter while they stare at the band, the dancing couples. Leaning his elbow against the bar, Juan stands and faces MR. HODGKINS, who sits on a stool. He is a pudgy, light-skinned man in his mid-fifties. He wears a white button shirt, black bowtie, and vest beneath his black tuxedo jacket. His derby hat on the bar counter, Mr. Hodgkins stares into his empty martini glass.

JUAN
Hey there.

Without turning to him, Mr. Hodgkins acknowledges him by seeing him out of the corner of his eye before staring dejectedly at the top shelf liquor.

MR. HODGKINS
Hey.

JUAN
We’ll have a drink later, but first, let’s dance.

MR. HODGKINS
Must we.

JUAN
But of course. It’s our song.

MR. HODGKINS
Your song.

JUAN
No, it’s our song. If you hadn’t come into my life, it wouldn’t have meant what it does to me now.

Juan puts his hand on Mr. Hodgkins’ shoulder. He leads him past the crowd to the dance floor. Once they stake a spot, Juan puts an arm around Mr. Hodgkins, their other hands clasped by their hips. They slow dance, hip to hip, beneath a chandelier that gives the smoke around them a soft glow. When Armstrong finishes his trumpet solo and steps to the microphone, Juan leans his cheek to his partner’s. He softly sings the lyrics into his ear while Armstrong sings.

JUAN
Someday, you'll be sorry. The way you treated me was wrong.

His eyes watery, Juan caresses Mr. Hodgkins’ face with his hand before he continues to sing into his ear.

JUAN
I was the one who taught you all you know. Your friends have told you to make me sing another song. So good luck, may be with you. And for the future have no fears. There won't be another to treat you like a brother. Someday you'll be sorry dear.

Arms on their backs, hip to hip, they continue to slow dance with the rest of the crowd.

JUAN
There won't be another to treat you like a brother. Someday you'll be sorry dear.



FADE OUT