Bridget Jones's Diary Page #3

BRIDGET & MARK SIMULTANEOUSLY: So...

MARK:
Publishing. Have you read any good books... lately?

BRIDGET:
Um... The Famished Road, by Ben Okri.

MARK:
Ah, yes, I read that when it first came out.

BRIDGET:
All the way through?

MARK:
Mmm. Don't you think it's a rather poor conceit?

Bridget stares at him.

BRIDGET:
Erm... Well, not too poor. Actually I'm only on page 3. Dozed off - but I'm sure the story's really going to kick in on page 4.

Is there a tiny glint of amusement in Mark's eye?

BRIDGET:
You been staying with your parents over New Year?

MARK:
Yes. You too?

BRIDGET:
No. Sorry. I was at a party in London last night, so I fear I'm a bit hungover. Wish I could be lying with my head in a toilet like all normal people.

She does a little laugh. Inscrutable reaction from Mark.

BRIDGET:
New Year's Resolution to drink less. And stop smoking.

MARK:
Ah.

Looking at her drink and fag.

BRIDGET:
And keep New Year's Resolutions. And stop talking total nonsense to strangers. In fact, stop talking full stop. Keep my big mouth firmly shut until I've got something incisive and intelligent to say... (Pause) Nice jumper. Can't beat a reindeer, that's my theory.

MARK:
Perhaps it's time to... eat then.

Mark walks off. Bridget notices all eyes staring at her, then hurriedly averted. She walks to the Turkey Curry Buffet.

BRIDGET:
(Muttering to herself) Ah - so that's why Bridget isn't married yet. She repulses men.

INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY.

Mark is by the buffet, eyeing a turkey drumstick warily. His mother approaches him.

MARK'S MOTHER:
There'd be no harm taking her number. Apparently she lives just around the corner from you.

MARK:
Mother, I do not need a blind date, particularly not with some verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and dresses like her mother.

Mark looks around to see Bridget. He can't tell whether she has heard or not. Bridget has heard. She smiles at him as if she hasn't - and helps herself to a plate of food.

BRIDGET:
Yummy. Turkey curry. My favourite. (Then into V.O., still smiling broadly) Oh God. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Even dumped divorcee wearing reindeer sweater thinks I'm horrible. Am destined to die alone.

INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. TOP OF STAIRS. NIGHT.

Bridget sits at the top of the stairs in a pair of pajamas, writing her diary.

BRIDGET O.S.:
(In her diary) And be found three weeks later, wearing a shower cap and half-heaten by Alsathians.

Her mum calls from downstairs.

MUM V.O.:
Darling - come on down and join in the post-mortem.

INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' SITTING. NIGHT.

Mum bustling in and out of the sitting room with a dustbuster. Dad is engrossed in the cricket on the TV. Mum looks a bit deflated.

MUM:
Thought it went very well, didn't you?

Dad grunts.

MUM (CONT'D):
I thought we might invite the Alconburys over tomorrow to chew it over.

Dad grunts again.

MUM (CONT'D):
I thought we could make them into a lasagne and eat them. (More grunt.) Then I thought wecould invite Penny Husbands-Bosworth and have a sadomasochistic orgy.

DAD:
Yes. Very good evening. Lovely turkey curry.

Mum looks at him - deeply. Still shocked by his indifference.

INT. PARENT'S HOUSE. STAIRS. NIGHT.

Back to Bridget surveying this desultory scene, perplexed...

BRIDGET O.S.:
V. complex - life grisly because of lack of love, which, when found, also grisly.

EXT. LONDON BRIDGE. DAY.

Music:
IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR by Sly and the Family Stone. Great big bridge shot - hundreds of people, and hundreds of Bridgets, fag in hand, walking across the river to work. Bridget looks at the world around her, at the others Bridgets, at the old ladies in housecoats with shopping trollies - at happy couples holding hands. What will become of her?

EXT. BOND STREET. DAY.

Bridget walks to work. And, as Bridget does - she pulls herself together again.

BRIDGET V.O.:
Still - not to despair. Am thrusting, modern independent woman, with good prospects, good job, good brain, and famously nice nipples. Surely eternal happiness must be round the corner.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

Bridget slinks into the office late. She is wearing a rather cute short skirt. Perpetua, her Sloany superior, is on the phone. On the desk is a framed photograph of Perpetua's large, pink, fleshy, hooray boyfriend, beside countless estate agents details of houses.

BRIDGET:
Morning.

PERPETUA:
Morning. I need that 'Kafka's Motorbike' release by 11. (Back to the phone) Describe it to me, Gavin - big dining room - good! - plum ruched curtains with a floral frieze - very good indeed...

BRIDGET:
Right.

Bridget logs on, types 'KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE' heading.

She can glimpse Daniel Cleaver, through the glass wall of his windowed office. He suddenly looks up, looks straight at her with no expression. She blushes, looks away, just as Mr Fitzherbert, the Managing Director, passes her desk.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Happy New Year, Mr Fitzherbert.

MR FITZHERBERT:
Happy New Year, Brenda.

He glances at her breasts fondly and then goes into Daniel's office. Closes the door.

The phone rings.

BRIDGET:
Hello. Publicity.

JUDE O.S.:
(Sobbing into phone) ...all I asked. I only asked... if he wanted to come on a mini-break to Paris.

INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY.

Jude, investment banker, is in a cubicle, in floods of tears, mascara streaking her cheeks.

BRIDGET O.S.:
Calm down. Breathe deeply. That's right. What's happened?

Bridget, turned away from Perpetua, talking low.

JUDE:
He said I was getting too serious and too needy. Am I co... co-dependent?

BRIDGET O.S.:
No, you are not. It's not you. You're lovely. It's Vile Richard. He's just a big nobhead with no nob...

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

Breaking off as she notices that Daniel is standing in front of her desk, with a manuscript. He must have overheard.

BRIDGET:
(Covering up) ...is some people's opinion of Kafka... but they couldn't be more wrong. This book is a searing vision of the wounds our century has inflicted on traditional masculinity: positively Vonnegutesque. But tell you what, I'll send over a review copy on a bike. Not at all. Thank you for calling Professor Leavis.

She disconnects.

DANIEL:
Don't let me interrupt the Stakhanovite flow.

Bridget blushes.

INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY.

Jude wipes her tears away and walks out into the main office, full of men in suits.

JUDE:
Right - that was Tokyo on the phone - if you gentlemen have the balls for it - I think it's time to kill.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

Daniel has started to walk away. Then stops.

DANIEL:
F.R. Leavis.

BRIDGET:
Mmmmm-hmm.

DANIEL:
Wow.

He seems impressed. He's about to walk off again.

DANIEL (CONT'D):
The F.R. Leavis who wrote MASS CIVILISATION AND MINORITY CULTURE?

BRIDGET:
(Unsure, but nods cheerily) Mmmmm-hmm.

DANIEL:
The F.R. Leavis who died in 1978?

BRIDGET:
(A rather high pitched squeak) Ahm...

He continues on his way. Bridget's face.

PERPETUA:
(To phone) Stay right there - I'll be round in 10 minutes. Don't let anyone else set foot in it. (To Bridget) Bridget, I've got to see a property. You'll have to do the presentation to that Michael chap. Is that okay?

BRIDGET:
Yes - good.

INT. PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY

A stylish meeting room. At one end stands a slightly flappy Bridget with some folders and presentational aids. At the other end of the table - Mr Fitzherbert, Daniel Cleaver, Plump Simon from Marketing, and an author, Michael, with a beard.

MR FITZHERBERT:
Right - fire away, Brenda.

BRIDGET:
Right. Well, recently we've been having quite a lot of success with teaser campaigns to precede actual publication - and we've decided really to go for that this time.

MR FITZHERBERT:
Excellent.

The writer is quite serious. Daniel is unreadable - and cool.

BRIDGET:
So - three weeks before publication - this will begin to appear on posters and in a wide range of magazines.

Unveil a slick graphic board, on it are just the words - 'It's Coming'. Very Gothic print - and blood seeping from the stone wall it's printed on.

Cut to the 4 presentees - they seem to be concentrating hard.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Then... a week later, we take it a step further...

Unveil the next board: it reads - 'If you liked 'Highway of Blood' and 'Slit-throat Alley', On March 3, You'll be Very Happy And Very Scared.'

BRIDGET (CONT'D): As you can see - still not revealing the name of the book...

Cut to the listeners again - concentrating really hard. Inscrutable - serious.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Then, at last, just two days before publication day, we reveal the book itself:

Reveals the last board, a horrific bloody image and speaks along with it:

BRIDGET (CONT'D): From the pen of Michael Harper - a new horror classic - The Red Door'...

Cut back to the other 4...

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Which, I suspect you would think was a better campaign if you actually were Michael Harper but the look on your face make me realise that I've made a little mistake and you are in fact Michael Naughton, author of 'Teddy Knows Best' which means that this is not a particulary suitable campaign so if you just give me a minute...

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. OFFICE CORRIDOR. DAY.

Bridget runs and skids frantically along the corridor.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY.

Bridget is back in exactly the same position as before.

BRIDGET:
We'd probably like to start, a couple of weeks before publication, with something like this...

Unveil a slick graphic board on which are just the words - 'It's Coming'. Print like gingerbread cookies, held up by balloons, with little teddies all over the brick wall that forms its background. Maybe quick shot as we cut off her, of next board 'If you liked 'Teds in Space' and 'Who's a Naughty Ted', On March 14 You're Going to go Very... Gooey.'

INT. RESTAURANT. NIGHT.

A club - as Bridget speaks, a waitress is serving them - 5 boxes of cigarettes - 3 bottles of wine...

BRIDGET V.O.:
Jan 4 - emergency meeting with urban family. Great joy of single life is replacement of frightful real family with specially chosen group of friends for rational,...

2 bottles of vodka and lots and lots of crisps and guacamole.

BRIDGET V.O.:
...mature discussion of problems that we all share. Like Prime Minister choosing Cabinet of Ministers - after ten years of adult life have selected Tom... pop icon who only wrote one song then retired because he found one song was quite enough to get him laid for the whole of the nineties. Total poof, of course.

He is watched - talking on his mobile that matches his shirt.

BRIDGET V.O.:
Jude - petite business dynamo - utter genius at all things to do with banking. Utter bollocks at all things to do with men.

Jude, smoking heavily.

BRIDGET V.O.:
And Shazza - great novelist who like to say 'f***' a lot and can't be arsed to write first novel - therefore puts energies into giving incisive advice on all matters personal.

SHARON:
F*** the lot of 'em. Resign tomorrow just to teach them a f***ing lesson - you don't f***ing mess with Bridget Jones.

BRIDGET:
Good. What do you think Jude? What would you do if one of your assistants made a harmless little mistake like that?

JUDE:
I'd fire you tomorrow.

BRIDGET:
Excellent. And Tom - what's the homosexualist viewpoint on this particular crisis?

TOM:
Is that Cleaver chap as cute as ever?

BRIDGET:
Absolutely.

TOM:
Then I think, as usual, a well-timed blow job is probably the answer.

A stranger suddenly comes up to the table, and addresses Tom...

STRANGER:
Aren't you that chap who sung...?

Tom gets this all the time.

TOM:
Yes.

STRANGER:
What are you up to now?

TOM:
I spend my time buying phones that perfectly match my clothes.

It's actually true - his orange mobile phone goes perfectly with his peach-coloured shirt.

STRANGER:
Oh right. Far out. Well, great song.

TOM:
(Big smile) Thank you so much.

The Stranger leaves.

BRIDGET:
More vodka anyone?

ALL:
No, no, no - oh all right, fill her up, etc.

BRIDGET:
Now what's this about Vile Richard?

JUDE:
Well, yes - I've got a bit of a new situation vis a vis a promised mini-break.

SHARON:
Don't get me started, Jude - don't get me f***ing started.

JUDE:
We sort of get beck together at Christmas - but then, yesterday...

SHARON:
Too late - I'm started - Judith, you know I support every emotional decision you make 100%, but it's time you realised that Richard is a cowardly fuckwit who for 11 years has engulfed you in a seething swamp of EMOTIONAL FUCKWITTAGE... and should be f***ing spayed then killed.

JUDE:
Right. Right. Good. So do you think I should call him?

TOM/SHARON:
No!

BRIDGET:
(Simultaneously) Yes. I mean no.

BRIDGET O.S.:
As you can see - just like a family - but with much more vodka.

At that moment a very young girl walks past in a distinctive almost see-through blouse. All of the girls turn to watch her as she goes. They turn back - and together...

THE THREE GIRLS:
Tart.

EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.

A taxi drives along. We hear conversation inside.

TOM/JUDE/SHARON:
(Drunk) Men are all fuckwits, fuckwits, perverts and bastards - and fuckwits.

BRIDGET:
Zackly. Exackly. I have no need of men or job - because I have you, Tom. And you, Jude and Shazzer. And you, Tom. Night all.

The taxi stop - the door opens - and Bridget falls out spectacularly.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

The next morning. Bridget taking off her coat as she comes in nervously. A bit hungover, today wearing another rather delicious short skirt. Perpetua on phone.

PERPETUA:
I'm very excited indeed Gavin: let's move on it - the last thing we want is some towel-head buying it from under our noses. (Looks up) Morning, Bridget. I hear it went very well.

BRIDGET:
Morning.

Bridget guiltily pretends to start working hard straight away.

Suddenly. MESSAGE PENDING flashes on her computer screen. She is perplexed. She presses EXE.

ON THE COMPUTER:
Message Bridget Jones from Daniel Cleaver...

She gulps - feels firing on its way. It continues...

ON THE COMPUTER:
Re: yesterday's presentation...

Now she really is worried.

ON THE COMPUTER:
You appeared to have forgotten your skirt. Is skirt off sick? I thought was made perfectly clear in your contract of employment, staff are expected to be fully dressed at all times.

Bridget is startled. She looks up and across at Daniel. He is not looking at her.

PERPETUA:
(On the phone) The only problem I can see is the kitchen, where frankly there isn't room to swing a cat - and, as you well know, we have two cats.

BRIDGET:
(As she types) Message Mr Cleaver. Am appalled by message. Skirt was demonstrably neither sick nor absent. Appalled by management's blatantly size-ist attitude to skirt. Suggest management sick, not skirt.

She pressed SEND, looks shyly at Daniel as he reads the message. He laughs, turns to look at her. A warm, sexy, mischievous smile.

INT. COMMUNAL CHANGING ROOM. EVENING.

MUSIC. 'JUST MY IMAGINATION' by Temptations.

Bridget, Jude and Sharon are trying on clothes. Bridget, wriggling into a skimpy skirt, is headless as it is caught over her head.

BRIDGET:
I'm not flirting with him. But obviously I had to reply because he's my boss. There are certain types of etiquettewithin a business structure that you transcend at your peril. You don't want me fired, do you?

She finally frees her head from her skirt. Sharon and Jude have left the changing room and she's been talking to a total stranger... who tries to be helpful.

NICE WOMAN:
No, no - not at all.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

Bridget is labouring with the art-work for another book - 'Kafka's Motorbike'. She is actually wearing the shirt we glimpsed on the 'tart' girl in the first friends scene. Light flashes: message pending.

BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Still worried about skirt. And shirt today looking peaky too; wan, thin. May I please have skirt's address and phone number so may send flowers?

Bridget reading...

DISSOLVE TO INT. WEDDING RECEPTION. DAY.

Flowers everywhere. Bridget as bride, Daniel making speech. Guests include everyone we've seen, including the smiling author of 'Teddy Knows Best' plus a celebrity or two, all laughing at Daniel's joke.

DANIEL:
And it all began with some very childish e-mailing over Bridget's non-existent skirt.

Guests laugh. Bridget smiles modestly.

INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.

The next day. Bridget walks past Daniel's office in short skirt and different top. He seem deep in concentration. By the time she gets back to her desk, there is MESSAGE FLASHING.

BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: If walking past office was attempt to demonstrate presence of skirt, can only say that it has failed parlously. Cleave.

BRIDGET:
(Typing on computer) MSG Cleaver. Shut up please. I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent manner? Jones.

Daniel reading screen, laughing then typing.

MESSAGE PENDING on Bridget's screen.

ON THE COMPUTER:
MSG Jones. Mortified to have caused offence. Will avoid all non-PC overtones in future. Deeply apologetic. P.S. Like your tits in that top.

Bridget reads and laughs - looks up - there, for the first time - at her desk - in the flesh - is Daniel.

DANIEL:
I wondered if the skirt would care for dinner on Friday night?

BRIDGET:
Um. Friday? Oh - uhm - I'd love to, but I think I've got...

Bridget reaches for her diary, a 'not to sure' look on her face.

DANIEL:
Don't even TRY it, Jones.

INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.

Triumphant pop music blaring. In the bathroom. Manic activity. Bridget, through a haze of condensation, massaging anti-cellulite massage oil, plucking eyebrows, cleansing, moisturising.

BRIDGET V.O.:
Being a woman is like being a farmer: harvesting, weeding, crop-spaying. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just let myself revert to nature - within days would I find myself sporting a full beard on each shin...? Ow!

She utters short sharp cry as she waxes her bikini line out of shot. The entryphone goes.

INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.

Bridget jumps out of bathroom...

BRIDGET:
Is he out of his mind? He's forty minutes early.

She heads for the door. Looks at herself in the mirror. With her dressing gown quite louche and her hair up, she look rather divine.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): What the hell - it's a look.

She pick up the entryphone.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Hello. (Beat) Oh. Hello Dad.

She buzzes him in. Very unexpected, this.

INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.

Dad is sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea. Bridget is listening to him. It's a big shock.

BRIDGET'S DAD:
I don't know what's happening at all. Ever since Christmas she's behaving oddly and then yesterday she cames in at four a.m. When I asked her where she'd been, she said it was none of my business. Suddenly thirty years of marriage would appear to count for nothing.

BRIDGET:
Dad. Maybe it's a sort of end of life crisis.

Dad stares at her aghast. Is he at the end of his life too?

BRIDGET (CONT'D): I mean not end of life... you know - mid-late life crisis type of thing.

DAD:
And she said... she said...

BRIDGET:
What?

DAD :
...she said for all I knew clitoris was something in Geoffrey's butterfly collection.

BRIDGET:
Oh dear.

DAD:
(Pause...) When someone loves you - it's like having a blanket all round your heart - and then when it's taken away...

The phone rings.

BRIDGET:
(Into phone) Tom, this isn't a good time. (Listens) Okay... okay... I know. I know. I'll go and look.

She disconnects, gives the phone to Dad, indicates Tom's number in her phone book...

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Dad, call this number in two minutes. Tom's left his mobile here, and I think I've thrown it away with the newspapers.

She grabs a coat and exits.

EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.

Bridget stands on a low wall by three communal dustbins. Her overcoat covers her bath towel and not much else. She has 2 curlers in the back of her hair. Suddenly, out of the darkness, Mark Darcy appears, dressed in jogging clothes...

MARK:
Hello.

BRIDGET:
Oh, God.

MARK:
(Taking her in) Everything okay?

BRIDGET:
(Pulling her coat tightly) Yup. Super.

MARK:
What are you doing?

BRIDGET:
I'm waiting... for the dustbin... to ring.

MARK:
Have you been waiting long?

BRIDGET:
Not very long, no.

MARK:
Do you think it will be ringing soon?

BRIDGET:
Yes, I have high hopes of a phone call in the very near future.

Pause. There's the ring of a phone. Mark is startled, as Bridget reaches into one of the dustbins, struggles to locate the phone. Mark reaches into the dustbin nearest him, retrieves the phone, answers it...

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes