Very Bad Things

8    EXT. SANTA MONICA          8

TIGHT ON a “Fred Sands” realty sign being pounded into the ground. Pictured on the sign, as “offered by,” is realtor DAVID BOYD, 30-ish, short hair, smiling with bizarre sincerity.

WIDER to reveal, David Boyd in the flesh, suit jacket off, pounding away, sinking the sign into the front yard of a cute little house. His CELL PHONE RINGS. Boyd, gets the phone from his jacket.

BOYD: (into phone) David Boyd. Tina. Great. Okay. Here’s the deal, we’re talking five guys. Hard Rock. Nice guys Tina. My friends. Yeah. I’m calling you directly so you don’t have to go through the agency... (suddenly, over his shoulder) HEY! DO NOT ENTER THE HOUSE! (back into phone) That’s correct. Cash straight to you. Yes. Twelve hundred? I don’t think so. It’s just stripping. Just a show. Hold on. (O.C.) Could you please wait off the property?

ANGLE ON A YOUNG COUPLE, obviously here to see the house.

MAN: We’re just trying to sneak a peak.

BOYD: Just stay off the property until I’m off the phone.

MAN: Why?

BOYD: Cause that’s the way they do it.

Bewildered and somewhat intimidated, they back off.

BOYD (con’t): (back into phone) So it’s five guys, Hardrock Casino. Nine hundred bucks and you do the thing with the rubber hoses. Are you in? Tina, are you in? Good.

Boyd hangs up, puts on his jacket and turns with the same bizarre insincere smile in his photo. Hand extended...

BOYD (con’t): David Boyd, nice to meet you.

9    FISHER AND LIZ IN LINE      9

LIZ: Why do you feel the need to explore this side of your personality?

FISHER: What are you talking about?

LIZ: I’m talking about the kind of people you hang out with...about growing up, assuming responsibility of yourself.

FISHER: I asked you to marry me. I’m ready for marriage. That’s responsibility. That’s growth.

LIZ: I just think that at some point you’re going to have to re-evaluate some of your friendships...

FISHER: Who else?

LIZ: Charles Moore for instants.

FISHER: You don’t like Moore? Since when?

LIZ: It’s not that I don’t like him. But the wedding has really got me thinking and...I just keep myself opening up. Crowning. And I want you keeping up with me here.

FISHER: What does Moore have to do with your growing?

LIZ: I just don’t see him in the big picture.

FISHER: I’ve known him since Cub Scouts.

LIZ: He’s weird.

FISHER: He’s quiet.

LIZ: He’s weird.

10   TIGHT ON - CHARLES MOORE     10

late twenties, a chef in a very upscale, very busy KITCHEN. His name, “Moore,” is embroidered on his white chef’s jacket.

Food orders fly all around as Moore works with a mesmerizing focus, a poetic sense of purpose, fifteen things going on at once; he chops, sautes, braises, etc..., in a perfect mute silence.

11   FISHER AND LIZ STILL IN LINE      11

FISHER: He just doesn’t talk a lot.

LIZ: Why? What’s his problem?

FISHER: He’s a great chef.

LIZ: He’s weird. And I expect more from you.

FISHER: You expect more what?

LIZ: You’re going to be hungover for three days. Like those guys on “Oprah” that get drunk and have disgusting sex with prostitutes and then say their vows with the stench of cheap hotel whore sex all over them.

FISHER: Time out.

LIZ: It’s vile!

People are staring.

FISHER: That’s absurd.

LIZ: I’ve seen it on television.

FISHER: I’m not going to marry you with the smell of prostitutes on my body.

LIZ: (starts to cry) I am not common Keith. I am not common. I am a creature like no other and I will not be commoned! Is that to much to ask? (screaming) Is that to much to ask!?!

FISHER: You will not be common!!!

Finally, at the head of the line, Liz steps up to the clerk.

LIZ:  Marriage license please.

12   EXT. GOVERNMENT BUILDING     12

Fisher and Liz emerge, start for the parking lot. Liz stops to look at Fisher, her eyes well with tears, vulnerable and apologetic.

LIZ: Do you love me?

FISHER: Of course.

LIZ: How much?

FISHER: With all my heart.

LIZ: (vulnerable) Kiss me...?

FISHER takes her into his arms, pulls her to him, kisses her hard, for all it’s worth.

13   INT. A LARGE MONEY MANAGEMENT FIRM      13

Desk after desk after desk of identical men, seemingly repeating the same task. We find Fisher at one of the desks, number crunching. At the desk across from Fisher sits...

MICHEAL BRENN, short, compact, with a severe personality disorder, masquerading as semi-appropriate behavior.

MICHEAL: That’s just insecurity.

FISHER: I don’t know. She’s really been stressing out.

MICHEAL: Just insecurity. Nut crunching gut splinters.

FISHER: What does that mean?

MICHEAL: It means she’s insecure.

FISHER: About what?

Micheal’s phone rings.

MICHEAL: (picks up) Mike Brenn. Yes. Yes. 14.3 at 7.5 for 6. At 29.83 at 9. (hangs up)  I’m amazed the windows don’t blow out of their fucking sockets with all the repressed, ass-puckering rage in these soul-less lizards.

FISHER: (beat) I just want her to be happy.

MICHEAL: Same alarm clock every morning, same two pops on the same snooze button...(PHONE RINGS; picks up) Micheal Brenn. Yes...Yes... (looking through stacks of stats)Hold your horses. Okay. Got it. 6.321 at 17.28 for 6.6 at 9.256 out at 3432.343. (hangs up) Same shower, towel, toothbrush, razor, hair gel. It’s a fucking epidemic Fisher and you better start addressing it. You’re getting married and I’m not going to candy-coat it. It just gets worse. It’s an eighteen wheel cement mixer that will crush every bone in your body.

Fisher looks pale.

FISHER: I’m not breathing right.

MICHEAL: You’re not breathing right?
FISHER: Lately I’ll just start getting lightheaded, dizzy, and I realize I haven’t breathed in like two minutes.

ADAM BRENN, Micheal’s older brother, mid-30’s, a bit soft in the belly, approaches, more or less in charge.

ADAM: (to Micheal) We’re leaving from my house in three hours. If you want to come, get your numbers in order by then.

MICHEAL: First of all...

ADAM: (cuts him off) No first of all. I’m not in a game mood.

MICHEAL: You’re interrupting a personal conversation.

ADAM: (to Fisher) Sorry Fish.

FISHER: We’ll be ready Adam.

ADAM: I know you’ll be. (to Micheal) Three hours.

Adam goes.

MICHEAL: I don’t care for him.

FISHER: He’s your brother.

MICHEAL: So?

Fisher’s phone RINGS.

FISHER: (pick’s up) Keith Fisher.

14   INT. KITCHEN         14

Liz sits at the kitchen table, in a mild panic.

LIZ: (into phone) We’ve got problems here.

FISHER: Problems?

INTERCUT Liz and Fisher.

LIZ: Seating problems.

FISHER: Okay.

LIZ: Keith do not trivialize this.

FISHER: I’m not. What’s the problem?

LIZ: We’re supposed to have gold-trimmed padded seats, now they’re telling me that there was a mistake and we can’t have padded.

FISHER: What kind of seats can we have?

LIZ: Not padded ones.

FISHER: So what do we do?

LIZ: You go down there.

FISHER: Go down where?

LIZ: Go down to the seat place and straighten this out.

FISHER: Honey I don’t have the time...

LIZ: I need your help.

FISHER: We’re leaving in three hours.

LIZ: (starts to cry) I need your help.

FISHER: I’ll call them from the road.

LIZ: Do you love me?

FISHER: More than I ever imagined being able to love anyone ever.

LIZ: Take care of those chairs.

FISHER: We’re leaving from Adam’s. Come send me off.

LIZ: Maybe.

15   EXT. ADAM’S HOUSE - SANTA MONICA        15

BOYD, MOORE, FISHER in the middle, MICHEAL and his older brother, ADAM, all in suits pose in front of Adam’s brand new, state of the art, Chevy Minivan while Adam’s very aggressive wife, LOIS, mired in domestic resentment, focuses her camera.

LOIS: Notice how clean and well-behaved they all appear, respectable members of modern society. Timmy, Adam Jr., take a good look at this...

Adam’s and Lois’ kids, Timmy, 8, and Adam Jr., 10, watch with Liz. (Adam Jr., in leg braces and crutches, suffers from muscular dystrophy)

LOIS: ...We will compare these before photos with whatever form of degeneration presented to us in 24 hours, no matter how low, how vile...

LIZ: ...embarrassing, shameful...

LOIS: ...regression of Modern Man to his most primitive, ape-like state...

LIZ: The stone age.

LOIS: The post-Vegas Man.

LIZ: A mutant species.

LOIS: Okay boys, smile!

Lois clicks off photos of the men.

LOIS: All right. As you were.