INT. CLUTTERED HOME OFFICE — DAY — A COMPUTER SCREEN
KEYBOARD TAPPING NOISES as a man’s face appears onscreen. The man, BLAKE, frowns. He is wearing a navy suit jacket, crisp white shirt, power tie, and cargo shorts. We hear chimes as other faces appear, each in its own window: MOSS, LEVENE, GEORGE, and ROMA. BLAKE leans forward and speaks, louder than necessary.
BLAKE: Hey, fellas. Is everyone here?
BLAKE: Well, I’m goin’ anyway. Please mute yourselves till I call on you. Got that, you sons of bitches? Can you all hear me OK? [pause] So. Listen up. First, I hope you’re doing well and staying safe. Second, I’m here from downtown. I’m here from Mitch and Murray. And I’m here on a—
MOSS: [unmutes his microphone] Hold up. I thought the downtown office was still closed.
BLAKE: It is. I was speaking figuratively.
MOSS: Ah. Gotcha.
BLAKE: I am here on a mission of—
MOSS: Are Mitch and Murray doing OK?
BLAKE: What? Uh, yeah, I guess so. You know, hangin’ in there. Lots of baking.
MOSS: Glad to hear it. They’re good guys.
BLAKE: What the hell is that noise?
MOSS: Ha! That’s my “office mate,” Gracie. Mail must be here. Let me close the door. Gracie! Hush!
BLAKE: Again, everyone, please mute your microphones.
MOSS: Hey, sorry, but who exactly are you, again?
BLAKE: [looks away] Henry! Buddy, we do not hit. I’ll help you in a minute. Daddy’s in a meeting. No. I don’t know. Go ask Mommy.
ROMA: [leaves the meeting]
BLAKE: [addressing MOSS] No, I— My kids are going nuts. Fuck you! That’s my name.
MOSS: Screen says “Blake.”
LEVENE: [mutely protests]
BLAKE: [addressing LEVENE] Speaking of names… Your name’s Levene? You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch?
MOSS: Unmute your microphone, Shelley.
LEVENE: [squints at camera, looks around his desk]
MOSS: No, it’s built into your computer. Mouse over the screen. See a little picture of a microphone? And it’s red? Click it.
LEVENE: —do this stuff, it’s bullshit.
BLAKE: Put. That coffee. Down. Coffee is for closers.
LEVENE: This is chai tea.
BLAKE: Yeah, well… listen up, pal. We’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. First prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anybody wanna see second prize? Second place is a set of steak knives. Third prize is—
MOSS: We can’t see them.
MOSS: The steak knives, you were too fast. Can you hold them up again?
BLAKE: Is this better?
LEVENE: [speaking, but muted]
MOSS: Are they serrated?
ROMA: [joins the meeting]
BLAKE: I don’t— look, it doesn’t matter. Forget the steak knives. The point is, I am here on a mission and it takes brass balls to sell real estate.
ROMA: [leaves the meeting]
MOSS: You’re cutting out.
BLAKE: Shit. [adjusts something offscreen] Now can you hear me?
LEVENE: Now we can hear you but we can’t see you.
MOSS: Wait. You’re back. What are you holding, though? What are those, strings?
BLAKE: Brass balls. [pause] Like, literal ones.
MOSS: We can only see the strings.
BLAKE: [tilts screen downward] Now?
MOSS: Are you wearing shorts?
BLAKE: [drops brass balls, tilts screen back up]
BLAKE: I’m trying to tell you you’ve got one week to get your jobs— Henry! Those are Daddy’s and they are not toys. They’re very heavy.
[indistinct crosstalk; screen freezes]
MOSS: Hey, I’m really sorry but I’ve got a hard stop at 5:30.
LEVENE: [eats a banana, still muted]
BLAKE: Goddammit. [leaves the meeting]
MOSS: [incessant barking]
MITCH: Hi! Sorry we’re late. We were up to our elbows in sourdough, ha ha.
MURRAY: Is that a dog?