Beetlejuice Page #22

DELIA:

Well, we don't want to

steal focus from Cathy's

ghosts. But maybe we

could set up something

out in the barn. He

could use my sculptures

and do a kind of

environmental piece.

EXT:
MAIN STREET -- DAY

DELIA pulls the BMW into a parking space in front of the DRY

CLEANERS.

INT:
DRY CLEANERS -- DAY

-- A CLOUD OF WHITE STEAM

From the middle of which shine out two YELLOW SNAKE'S EYES.

As the eyes gradually humanize, and the steam dissipates, we see

BEETLE JUICE as an OLD WOMAN, operating a steam press at the back

of the dry cleaning establishment. In tight grey curls, a

flowered dress, and practical shoes, BEETLE JUICE looks like a

old New England shopkeeper.

DELIA comes in the front door, and throws several strange-looking

outfits across the counter, and looks about impatiently.

BEETLE JUICE/OLD WOMAN

Be with in a moment, dear.

DELIA waits two seconds, and then in a voice that is still trying

to be pleasant:

DELIA:

I hate to be a nuisance,

but this isn't the only

stop I have to make today.

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN cuts the power on the steam press, and

comes to the front of the shop between two long mechanized racks.

He is walking with a limp and a cane.

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN

I'm sorry -- I don't move

as quickly as I used to.

I lost four toes last

winter. Frostbite. You

never think it can happen

to you till it happens

to you.

DELIA does not want to hear more of this story.

DELIA:

I have to have these by

Saturday.

BEETLE JUICE examines the avant-garde outfits.

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN

They are dresses,

aren't they, dear?

DELIA:

(Wondering if that was a dig)

You know how to take care

of material like this, don't

you?

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN

I've been running this place

for twenty-six years, ever

since Dad died. Dad was my

second husband. He had a

heart attack on Arbor Day.

He was planting that big

spruce in front of...

DELIA:

Do you deliver?

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN

I'll bring them out myself.

EXT:
MAIN STREET -- DAY

Piloted by the fuming DELIA, the BMW screeches away from the dry

cleaners. Halfway down the block, the BMW scatters an entire

troupe of Brownies.

INT:
DRY CLEANERS -- DAY

BEETLE JUICE / OLD WOMAN stands behind the counter, his old

woman's face a death mask, with YELLOW SNAKE'S EYES embedded it.

Behind him, the DRY CLEANING RACKS spin around wildly with an

UNEARTHLY CLATTER.

INT:
STEAM ROOM - NEW YORK ATHLETIC CLUB -- DAY

Full of steam. CHARLES and OTHO, swathed in towels, sit sweating

on benches.

OTHO:

What are you in town for?

CHARLES:

I'm arranging the catering

for Saturday night.

OTHO:

Oh let me go with you.

CHARLES:

We're having a sushi room,

and a tapas room, and your old

friend Alfredo is doing a

chocolate construction.

OTHO:

Christ, how much is that

going to cost? Chocolate

constructions don't come

cheap, and once you start

taking sushi across state

lines you're talking real

money.

CHARLES:

Otho, what difference does

it make? I'm writing this

whole party off my taxes.

And Delia's writing it off

of hers. Our whole goddamn

lives are deductible. Taxes

are just a game that you play

against the IRS and I always

make sure that I win.

OTHO:

I wish somebody'd teach me how to

play.

CHARLES:

It's easy. You just learn how to

make them play by your rules. (Beat)

Feels like it's getting hot in here.

Let's go.

CHARLES and OTHO get up and leave the steam room.

At the far end of the room is a sudden, agitated billowing of

steam.

BEETLE JUICE, with STARING YELLOW EYES, steps forward. He is

wearing a perfectly pressed, perfectly dry three-piece pin-

striped suit. He's wearing round wire-frame glasses, and a

narrow-brimmed hat. He is carrying a briefcase, with the

initialled monogram IRS.

He walks out of the steam room.

INT:
LOCKER ROOM -- DAY

BEETLE JUICE / IRS, unnoticed, passes the shower room, where

CHARLES and OTHO are slowly turning under adjoining taps.

He passes a row of lockers, attracting the notice of a deeply

tanned YUPPIE jock, who is about to open his locker.

As BEETLE JUICE / IRS leaves, the YUPPIE turns back to his now

open locker, just in time to be CLOBBERED ON THE CHIN by a boxing

glove that shoots out of the locker on a spring. The YUPPIE is

smashed against the opposite wall of lockers.

The other men in the locker room do double-takes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

EXT:
HOUSE -- DAY

The day of the party. Caterers vans pulled up. Workmen are

putting out table, and erecting a lighting system that wouldn't

be out of place in Madison Square Gardens.

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