[INT. DON CORLEONE'S OLD OFFICE - CLOSE VIEW ON MICHAEL
CORLEONE - DAY]

[Standing impassively, like a young Prince, recently crowned
King.]

[CLOSE VIEW ON Michael's hand. ROCCO LAMPONE kisses his hand. Then it is taken away. We can SEE only the empty desk and chair of Michael's father, Vito Corleone. We HEAR, over this, very faintly a funeral dirge played in the distance, as THE VIEW MOVES SLOWLY CLOSER to the empty desk and chair.]

[DISSOLVE TO: EXT. A SICILIAN LANDSCAPE - FULL VIEW - DAY]

[We can barely make out the funeral procession passing over
the burnt-brown of a dry river bed. The figures move
slowly, seemingly from out of hundreds of years of the past.]

[The MUSICIANS walking unsteadily on the rocky bed, their
instruments harsh and blaring.]

[They are followed by six young peasant men, carrying the
crude wooden coffin on their shoulders. Then the widow, a
strong large woman, dressed in black, and not accepting the
arms of those walking with her.]

[Behind her, not more than twenty relatives, few children and
paisani continue alone behind the coffin.]

[Suddenly, we HEAR the shots of the lupara, and the musicians
stop their playing. The entire procession scatters in odd
directions along the rocky river bed.]
[The young men struggle with the burden of the heavy coffin,
throwing it out of balance and nearly crashing to the ground.
We hear a woman SCREAMING:]

WOMAN *Sicilian*: They've killed young Paolo! They've killed the boy Paolo!

[EXT. SICILIAN LANDSCAPE - MED. VIEW - DAY]

[Across the slain body of a fourteen year old boy, lying on
the parched ground. In the distance we see four or five of
the mourning women, the wind blowing their black dresses and
veils, running up to the body of the boy. They begin to wail, and cry out in anguished Sicilian, as the widow, the mother of the murdered boy, holds her child in her arms, his fresh blood wetting her strong hands.]

[EXT. BARONIAL ESTATE - TIGHT MOVING VIEW - DAY]

[A boy, eight or nine, with wide, frightened eyes, being
pulled quickly by the hand. This is VITO ANDOLINI, who is
to become The Godfather.]

[The VIEW ALTERS revealing that he is being pulled along by
his Mother, the Widow, across a field leading to the
ornamental gates of a Baronial Estate of some forgotten Noble.]

[At various positions near the gates are men with shotguns, or lupara. The gates are opened; and the Widow and her boy are shown before DON FRANCESCO, a man in his sixties. He wears his trousers with suspenders, and an open white shirt sloppily tucked in over his enormous belly. He wears a hat to protect him from the white-hot sun, and proudly displays a gold watch and chain over his vest.]

[He sits in a chair, near a group of his men in the garden,
listening to the Widow, who stands before him with her only
son.]
WIDOW *Sicilian*: Don Francesco. You murdered my husband, because he would not bend. And his oldest son Paolo, because he swore revenge. But Vitone is only nine, and dumb-witted. He never speaks.

DON FRANCESCO *Sicilian*: I'm not afraid of his words.

WIDOW *Sicilian*: He is weak.

DON FRANCESCO *Sicilian*: He will grow strong.

WIDOW *Sicilian*: The child cannot harm you.

DON FRANCESCO *Sicilian*: He will be a man, and then he will come for revenge.

[As she pleads, the Widow moves closer to the Don, until she
has practically thrown herself to her knees before him.]

WIDOW *Sicilian*: I beg you, Don Francesco, spare my only son. He is all I have. In the name of the Holy Spirit, I swear he will never be a danger to you...

[Suddenly, she reaches under her skirt, where she has hidden
a kitchen knife.]

WIDOW *continuing*: But I will kill you myself! *she lunges at the Mafia chieftain* Vitone, go!

[The boy runs as fast as he can out through the gates. Then
there is a lupara blast. He turns, and sees his Mother
flung a distance of five feet from the short range of the
terrible blast of the shotgun. Then he sees the men turn
their attention to him. One fires at him; but the boy is
quick, and disappears into a grove of olive trees.]
[EXT. STREETS OF CORLEONE - NIGHT]

[Two men roam the deserted streets of Corleone, carrying
lupare. Every so often, they stop, and one shouts in a
loud, almost singsong voice, like a fish peddler. Their
names are MOSCA and STROLLO.]

MOSCA *Sicilian*: Our Friend promises misery to anyone who harbors the boy Vito Andolini. *he turns and shouts in the other direction* Our Friend promises misery to anyone who harbors the boy Vito Andolini.

[INT. A HOUSE - NIGHT]

[A family quietly eats their dinner. The father is the local
policeman, as indicated by his uniform jacket and gun,
hanging nearby.]

STROLLO *Sicilian, O.S.*: Our Friend will be hard with any family who gives help to Vito Andolini.

[One of the children looks up, about to speak. But the
father sternly indicates that nothing must be said. They go
on with their dinner.]

[EXT. THE STREETS OF CORLEONE - FULL VIEW - NIGHT]

[The men continue walking up and throughout the streets, far
in the distance.]

MOSCA *Sicilian O.S.*: ...misery to any family who harbors the boy, Vito...

[INT. A BARN - NIGHT]

[Four little girls watch with wide eyes as their mother and
father bind Vito tightly in swaddled cloth, and then lift
him up to the side of a mule; counter-balancing a heavy load
of firewood. The father looks at the boy's almost stoically
calm little face.]

FATHER *Sicilian*: Vito...We pray for you.

[He pulls the fabric over the boy's face.]

MOSCA *Sicilian O.S.*: ...Andolini...

STROLLO *Sicilian O.S.*: Our Friend promises misery to any family...

[EXT. THE CHURCH PLAZA - NIGHT]

[The men continue on their night-walk, up to the plaza of the
church.]

STROLLO *Sicilian*: ...who harbors the boy Vitone Andolini.

[The figure of a single man on a mule passes them.]

MOSCA *Sicilian*: Let no one give help to the boy Vito Andolini...

[The man on the mule makes his way out of the village and
disappears into the distance.]

[We begin to hear, very quietly, the Waltz repeated once again.]

[EXT. STEAMSHIP - CLOSE VIEW ON VITO - DAY]

[Huddled in blankets, on the deck of the ship in Steerage.
He does not say a word. The Waltz grows louder as the VIEW
ALTERS, revealing the hundreds of immigrant families huddled
together with all their earthly possessions on their way to
America.]

[Then, suddenly, the Waltz stops.]

[THE NEW YORK HARBOR - DAY]

[SILENCE. We glide past the Statue of Liberty.]

[VIEW on the IMMIGRANTS standing on shipboard silently;
looking. Vito is standing with them, his eyes wide.]

[CAMERA MOVES IN on the statue, then MOVING PAST, on to the
beautiful buildings of Ellis Island.]

[EXT. ELLIS ISLAND - DAY]

[A tugboat pulls a barge brimming with immigrants into the
Ellis Island harbor. Uniformed officials of the Immigration
Service load them up toward the main building.]

[INT. ELLIS PROCESSING HALL - DAY]

[The hundreds of immigrant families sit on rows of benches in
the great hall. Various painted lines lead to the steps and
processing rooms above.]

[There is the babble of many interviews going on
simultaneously, uncertainly, in different languages.]

[Vito is bundled in an old coat, with a large tag pinned on
it: "Vitone Andolini -- Corleone, Sicilia."]

[He stands, moves up in the line, when several other immigrant
boys, older than he, rush up an push him back in the line.
Weak from the trip, he falls to the floor. The boys laugh,
derisive in a language he cannot understand. He struggles
to his feet, lifting his makeshift bags; staring at them in
an icy hatred.]

[INT. PROCESSING ROOM - DAY]

[Three or four interviews are crowded into the small room;
they are conducted in English. From the expression on
Vito's face, and from the fragmented of the English, we
realize that he doesn't understand a word of it.]

OFFICIAL *English*: What is your name?

[The man waits, impatiently.]

OFFICIAL: Your name?

[Vito doesn't answer. The Official pulls the tag pinned onto
his coat and copies to down on his form, using a typewriter.]

OFFICIAL *speaking as he types*: Vito...Corleone. Step up, over there.

[He hands the form to another official.]

[CLOSE VIEW on the form. The name has been entered as Vito
Corleone.]

[INT. MEDICAL EXAM - DAY]

[Vito is stripped to the waist, as other immigrants wait.]

[The DOCTOR is just finishing his examination. He shakes his
head, and then writes on the medical form.]

DOCTOR: Can you understand me?

[Vito stares blankly.]

DOCTOR: You understand? Smallpox. Smallpox.

[He doesn't understand. The doctor turns to the Immigration
Official.]

DOCTOR: Quarantine...six months.

[UNDERGROUND PASSAGEWAY - MOVING VIEW - DAY]

[Officials move a group of immigrant men, including Vito, to
the quarantine section of the Island.]

[INT. QUARANTINE HALLWAY - DAY]

[The official stops at each doorway, and reads off a name.]

OFFICIAL: Salvatore Ormenta.

[The man moves into the room, and the group proceeds.]

OFFICIAL: Vito Corleone.

[No one responds. The guard moves to the boy, reads his new
name tag. And then, not unkindly:]

GUARD: That's you.

[He opens the door, and Vito enters the room.]

[EXT. THE STATUE OF LIBERTY - DAY]

[The VIEW slowly begins to pull back, revealing this to be
the view from inside the quarantine cell, where Vito stands
on his bench, looking out to the statue through the barred
window.]

[Then he turns, and sits in the corner. He is silent for a
long time.]

[Then, in a sweet, pure voice, he sings to himself in Sicilian.]

[DISSOLVE TO: INT. CATHOLIC CHURCH - MOVING CLOSE SHOT - DAY]

[A nine year old boy, dressed immaculately in white, with a
large white silk bow tied to his shoulder, moving slowly
down the aisle of the church with a group of other children
dressed in white. He has dark black hair, and his face is
unmistakably similar to young Vito's. He moves slowly, his
hands clasped around a golden missal. We HEAR only the pure
voice of Vito in Sicilian, his sad song reaching out from
the past, as ANTHONY CORLEONE, his Grandson, moves on the
way to his First Holy Communion more than fifty years later.]

[FULL VIEW]

[The little children move in procession down to the Altar,
where the PRIEST raises the Host, and performs the Communion
Mass in Latin.]

PRIEST: Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi.

[MOVING VIEW ON THE PRIEST]

[And Altar boys, as he moves along the row of kneeling
children, blessing them, and administering their first
Communion.]

[CLOSE MOVING VIEW]

[As the innocent faces receive the Host; finally, the Priest
comes to Anthony.]

PRIEST: Corpus Christi.

ANTHONY: Amen.

[EXT. LAKE TAHOE ESTATE - DAY]

[The lawns of this great estate on the shore of Lake Tahoe
are covered with guests of a wonderful party to honor the
First Holy Communion of Anthony Corleone, the son of Mr. and
Mrs. Michael Corleone. A full dance orchestra plays music
of the times on a pavilion bandstand built especially for
the occasion. Speedboats roar through the water, pulling
youthful waterskiers; and the pool and private harbor are
filled with laughing, swimming guests. It is Fall of 1958.]

[MED. VIEW]

[Anthony, in his Communion suit sits alone at the table,
looking like a lonely young Prince.]

KAY *O.S.*: Smile, Anthony. Smile.

[He does, and a flash goes off.]

PHOTOGRAPHER *O.S.*: Now, one with the whole family.

KAY *O.S.*: Mr. Corleone can't right now...

[KAY CORLEONE enters from the side, leading her four year old
daughter, MARY, and MAMA CORLEONE to pose with Anthony.]

KAY *O.S.*: ...but we'll get one with the ladies.

PHOTOGRAPHER: All together now, c'mon, Anthony...

[CHEESE and flash]

KAY: Thank you.

[She smiles as she leaves the photographer, and then lets out
a weary sigh to Mama, as she touches the slightly protruding
belly.]

KAY: Do you think it'll show in the picture?

MAMA: Two months never shows. Two months look like you had a big lunch.

VOICE *O.S.*: Oh, Mrs. Corleone.

[A slender, aristocratic WOMAN in her late forties is waving
to KAY.]

MRS. BARRETT: Hello, Mrs. Corleone. I'm Fran Barrett, our place is just down the lake. This is my husband, Marshall.

KAY: I'm so happy you could come.

MR. BARRETT: The place is transformed. We've been watching workmen come and go all summer.

MRS. BARRETT: Where is Mr. Corleone?

KAY: A business meeting ran late...but he promised he wouldn't be long.

[Kay puts her arm around little Anthony's shoulder.]

KAY: This is our son Anthony Vito Corleone. Today he made his First Holy Communion.

[EXT. TAHOE GATE AND KENNELS - DAY]

[A confusion of cars; arriving and parking. The squad of
parking attendants are supplemented by a whole team of the
local Police, working as high-class parking valets.]

[A very beautiful, statuesque woman, though slightly drunk,
DEANNA DUNN, slams the door of a powder blue Mercedes and
hurries barefoot through the great stone gate.]

DEANNA: I will not shut my mouth, and keep your Goddamn hands off of me!

[She is followed by a harried, FREDDIE CORLEONE, dressed with
flash in the Hollywood style, and carrying her shoes in his
hands.]

FREDO: Honey! Wait a minute; let's go for a drive.

DEANNA: I just had a drive; besides, I want to see my brother-in-law Michael.

FREDO *trying to get her to put her shoes on*: Yeah, but I don't want him to see you.

[Deanna pauses reflectively a moment, allowing Fredo to get
her shoes on.]

DEANNA: What beats me, is how you guys could be brothers. You musta been your Mother's rotten egg.

[She kicks off the shoes, giggling, and runs toward a waiter.]

DEANNA *lifting a glass of champagne*: Young man, young man...thank you, young man.

WAITER *impressed*: Excuse me, but aren't you...

DEANNA: Yes, you saw me in the movies, Good Humor man, and yes, I had more off than my shoes!

FREDO: Goddamn bitch.

DEANNA: Relax, Freddie honey. Come dance with me.

[She extends her hand to him.]

FREDO: Listen, Michael's got a lot of nice people here. Friends of Kay's. He'll never forgive me if you ruin his party.

DEANNA: I hate to see you cringe in front of him. How come you're so scared of your own kid brother?

FREDO: He's the head of the family.

[Disgusted, she turns around, and heads toward the music.]

DEANNA: Don't follow me!

[EXT. TAHOE LAWN AND TABLES - MED. SHOT - DAY]

[Rushing through the tables, waving an arm jangling with gold
jewelry, and carrying several gift-wrapped packages, is a
hardened and aging CONNIE CORLEONE. She is followed by a
blond, and wrinkled-handsome escort named MERLE.]

CONNIE: Mama...Mama! Here I am!

[She throws her arms around her Mother, who returns the
affection somewhat reproachfully.]

MAMA: Constanzia. We expected you last week; we sent the car to pick you up at the airport last week.

CONNIE: I know, it was chaos; but anyway, here I am one week late. *lifting a shiny green package out of Merle's arms* This is for my Mama. You remember Merle?

MAMA *not giving him a chance to greet her*: Yes, thank you.

CONNIE: How are the kids?

MAMA: Well, thank you, they asked for you all week.

CONNIE: I got surprises for everybody!

MAMA *glancing at the wrapping*: Bought at the airport.

CONNIE *gazing about*: This is swell. Where's Michael? I've got things to get straight with him and I can't wait on line.

MAMA: You go see your children first, and then you wait to see your brother like everybody else.

[EXT. THE BOATHOUSE - DAY]

[A porch-like foyer of the boathouse, where a group of five
or six men wait, some nervously. Some sit, and some pace.]

[MED. CLOSE VIEW]

[On one of these men, FRANKIE PENTANGELI, approaching his
sixties, with gray hair *the little of it left*. He's a bit
scruffy, this morning's shave of his white beard is not
perfect, and he seems tired. He is accompanied by an
associate-bodyguard, WILLY CICCI; thin and dark, and also
dressed up for the occasion. Frankie tries to get the
attention of one of the waiters; a college-groomed young man
in white sports jacket and black bow-tie.]

PENTANGELI: Hey, kid! You got any red wine?

WAITER *offering the tray*: Only champagne and cocktails.

PENTANGELI: Forget it...

[Finally, he sees someone he recognizes, Fredo, and shouts
out in a husky voice:]

PENTANGELI: Fredo! Sonuvabitch. You look great.

[Fredo squints in his direction; finally recognizes him.]

FREDO: Who's that? Pentangeli? Frankie "Five-Angels"...thought you were never coming West.

PENTANGELI *affectionately*: Gotta check up on my boys. Hey, what's with the food? Some kid in a white jacket brings me a ritz cracker with some chopped liver. 'Canapes,' he says. I say, 'Can a peas, my ass, that's a ritz cracker with chopped liver.' Go get me a salami sandwich and a glass of wine or I'll send you and your white jacket to the dry cleaners!

[They get a good laugh at this fresh breath of New York.]

FREDO: Gee, Frankie, it's good to see you. Reminds me of old times.

PENTANGELI: You remember Willy Cicci, don't you, Freddie? We was all together with the old man Clemenza in Brooklyn... before...uh...

FREDO: We were all upset about that.

PENTANGELI: That's what I'm here to talk to your brother about. What's with him, I got to get a letter of introduction to have a 'sitdown'?

FREDO *throwing his arm around him*: C'mon, I see what I can do.

[EXT. TAHOE PAVILION - MED. VIEW - DAY]

[The orchestra wears white summer sportcoats and black tuxedo
slacks as they play a tango behind monogrammed music stands.
A professional dance team, probably imported from Vegas,
dance the tango for the excited guests.]

[INT. TAHOE BOATHOUSE - DAY]

[A large and very beautiful room overlooking the lake. It is
dominated by an enormous bar, behind which stands ALBERT
NERI, discreetly in the background.]

[MICHAEL CORLEONE sits on a large sofa, his back to us.
Standing to one side is a tired and somewhat uneasy TOM
HAGEN. Standing before Michael is SANDRA CORLEONE, Sonny's
widow; her daughter, one of the twins, FRANCESCA CORLEONE,
and a handsome young man of twenty, GARDNER SHAW.]

SANDRA: Michael, this is Gardner Shaw. Francesca and he have been seeing each other for six months now. Gardner, this is Francie's Uncle Michael.

GARDNER *a little nervous*: I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Corleone.

MICHAEL *O.S.*: Sit down. Francie.

[The couple sit themselves on the sofa opposite Michael.]

SANDRA: They would like to set an engagement date, and...

MICHAEL: Let them speak for themselves.

[VIEW ON MICHAEL, calm, thoughtful. One can tell that he has
special affection for his niece.]

FRANCESCA: We love each other, Uncle Michael. And, we want to be married. I came to ask for your blessing.

[There is a loud KNOCKING on the door; then Fredo's voice.]

FREDO *O.S.*: Hey, Mike...guess who's here?

[Neri goes to answer it, cracks the door open.]

NERI: Not now, Freddie...

FREDO: Tell Mike Frankie 'Five-Angels' is here.

NERI: Not now...

[Neri closes the door, and Michael looks at the nervous young
man.]

MICHAEL: Francesca is my oldest brother's daughter. He died many years ago, and ever since I've felt much more of a father than an uncle. I love her very much. I'm pleased and impressed that you had the thought to come to me before going on with your plans. It shows me that you're a considerate man, and will be good to her. What are you studying in college?

GARDNER: My major is Fine Arts, sir.

MICHAEL: How will Fine Arts support your new wife?

GARDNER: It's embarrassing to say, sir, but I'm a major stockholder in the family corporation.

MICHAEL *smiling*: Never be embarrassed by your wealth. This recent contempt for money is still another trick of the rich to keep the poor without it. *warmly* Of course I give you my blessing. Let's set the wedding soon...it will be my pleasure to give the bride away.

[They all smile, and rise.]

MICHAEL *continuing*: ...and take a few courses in Business Administration just to be on the safe side!

[They laugh; Michael moves toward them. Francesca throws her
arms around him, and kisses her favorite uncle. The flushed
young man shakes his hand heartily.]

FRANCESCA: Thank you, Uncle Michael.

[They all take their leave; Michael turns to Hagen.]

MICHAEL: Make her dowry impressive. He comes from a family who still thinks an Italian bride goes barefoot.

[EXT. TAHOE SWIMMING POOLS AND HARBOR - DAY]

[Francesca and Gardner are greeted by her twin sister and
their young friends, who squeal and embrace at the good news.
Someone throws someone in the pool, and life is good.]

[MED. CLOSE]

[Francesca kisses her Aunt Kay.]

FRANCESCA: Uncle Michael is the greatest man ever!

[VIEW on Kay - happy for her niece.]

[INT. TAHOE BOATHOUSE - DAY]

[Michael sits in the darkened boathouse. Tom Hagen paces.
Michael is looking at photographs. Neri stands over him.]

[CLOSE ON MICHAEL studying the pictures.]

NERI *O.S.*: His name is Fred Vincent. He owns a small pizza parlor in Buffalo...

[CLOSE ON THE PICTURES]

[Snapshots of a middle-aged man, handsome, Italian. There is something familiar about him.]

NERI *O.S.* *continuing*: ...American wife and two small kids. We traced him and found that he's in the country illegally, from Sicily...

[Michael looks at another picture. The same man. Only
younger, and dressed in Sicilian shepherd's clothing. We
remember him as FABRIZZIO...Michael's traitorous bodyguard
in Sicily.]

NERI *O.S.*: ...came over around 1956. Sponsored by the Barzini Family.

[Michael puts the pictures down.]

MICHAEL: It's him. Fabrizzio. *almost to himself* Revenge is a dish that tastes best when it's cold.

NERI: How do you want me to handle it?

[Michael glances at Hagen, who has been waiting in the room.]

MICHAEL: Later. Tom?

[Hagen brings him a folder; then, as Michael glances through it:]

HAGEN: I've cleared it through the Senator's chief aide, a man named Turnbull. Turnbull's a heavy gambler, and into us for over a hundred grand, so I figure his information is reliable.

[Neri moves to the bar, to prepare Michael a drink.]

HAGEN: The Senator can be set up; but he thinks of himself as a clean politician. So it's got to be on terms he can live with: campaign contribution, donation to a charitable cause that he controls, things like that. If he gets even the inkling that you think you're buying him, he'll freeze up. Nevada's a funny state, they like things both ways here... All right. Turnbull says the Senator will be here at two-thirty, and he's been primed. He knows you'll want to meet with him alone, and he knows it's about the Tropicana's license. At any rate, he expects to be introduced around to some of the influential people here today, and generally treated as an ordinary guest. Just go light on him, Mikey, sometimes the biggest crooks don't like to think of themselves as crooks...

[Michael glances at Hagen, as though that last remark was unnecessary.]

HAGEN: I'm sorry; of course, you know that.

MICHAEL: Two-thirty. That gives me time to see my boy.

HAGEN: Connie's outside.

[Michael doesn't want to see her.]

HAGEN: I promised; she said it was urgent.

[Michael nods.]

MICHAEL: All right. Apologize to Pentangeli.

[Neri opens the door; Hagen exits, and Connie steps in
impatiently, followed by Merle.]

MICHAEL: I said I would see my sister, alone.

MERLE: I think this concerns me too. *taking a cigarette from the dispenser* You don't, do you?

[Connie steps forward, kisses Michael on the cheek.]

CONNIE: How are you, honey? You've met Merle, haven't you. He was with me in Vegas.

MICHAEL: I saw him with you.

CONNIE: We're going to Europe next week. I want to get passage booked on the Queen.

MICHAEL: Why do you come to me? Why don't you go to a travel agent?

MERLE: We're going to get married first.

[Michael is silent. Then he rises, and moves to the window overlooking the lake.]

MICHAEL: The ink on your divorce isn't dry. Your children see you on weekends; your oldest boy, Michael Francis... was in some trouble with the Reno police over some petty theft that you don't even know about.

CONNIE: Michael...

MICHAEL: You fly around the world with lazy young men who don't have any love for you, and use you like a whore.

CONNIE: You're not my father!

MICHAEL: Then why do you come to me?

CONNIE: Because I need MONEY!

MICHAEL *softly*: Connie, I want to be reasonable with you. You have a house here, with us. You can live here with your kids...and you won't be deprived of anything. I don't know much about Merle; I don't know what he does for a living; what he lives on. Why don't you tell him marriage is really out of the question; and that you can't see him any more. He'll understand. But if you disobey me, and marry this pimp...it would disappoint me.

CONNIE: It was my father's money; and I'm entitled to what I need. Where is Tom Hagen?

[She turns angrily, leaving Michael standing face to face
with Merle.]

MICHAEL: Are you finished?

MERLE: I think so.

MICHAEL: Then out.

[Merle puts out his cigarette and leaves, quickly.]

[EXT. TAHOE PAVILION - FULL VIEW - DAY]

[The orchestra has struck up a "Paul Jones," where two
concentric circles of young people march in opposite
directions, until the music stops. Then they take whomever
is opposite them as their new dance partner.]

[VIEW ON THE HARBOR AREA]

[Francesca and her twin, Gardner and their elite young
friends roar out of the private harbor, to get up on the
water skis. We notice ROCCO LAMPONE, move along a path
leading to a separate and more private boathouse. A small
covered craft approaches, ties off, and a group of three men
step on to the pathway, shake hands with Lampone - and
follow him to the large boathouse where Michael conducts his
business.]

[CLOSE VIEW]

[Pentangeli has led Mama up to the dance floor, and is having
some difficulty with the orchestra.]

PENTANGELI: I can't believe that out of thirty professional musicians, not one of you is Italian! *as the musicians laugh* C'mon, give us a tarantella.

[He waves his hands, conducting, and singing. The piano
starts a vamp, the drums uncertainly join in. A clarinet
starts to play "Pop Goes the Weasel," and soon the rest of
the orchestra is playing that. They look to Pentangeli for
approval. Disgusted, he goes back to his table, eating a
handful of canapes.]