Christmas Eve Page #2

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Up yours, Walt.

Could you just

be quiet a minute?

I'm trying to make this call.

There's no service in here.

Hey, sis?

Uh, if you get this

message, it's Marta.

I'm stuck in an elevator

with the orchestra.

I think we're all gonna die.

- Oh, god!

- - Oh come on, Marta,

shut the hell up!

That was uncalled for, Walt.

You shut up yourself.

You just told Walt to shut up.

I was shutting up

the shutter upper.

It's different.

What if we miss the

entire Christmas concert?

I wouldn't care if I

never played another concert

in my entire life.

Oh come on, you don't mean that.

Ugh.

Oh, seriously?

- Oh.

- - Okay, who did that?

Nice try, Walt?

I'm so backed up right now

I couldn't fart to save my life.

Who ever did the

deed, I hope you die

a long and painful death. Ow!

I think I just threw up.

Ugh, what's that on my neck?

Is that throw up on my neck?

It's probably just sweat.

Marta?

Maybe I didn't, maybe

I didn't, it's okay.

How can you not know

whether or not you threw up?

It's your own sweat.

Back off.

Hey, relax kid.

- Bring it bad boy.

- - Hey!

Walt!

Come on, come on.

Stop the madness!

What was that?

Who the hell has a gun in here?

I don't have a gun.

Me neither.

I wish I had a gun.

A woman of my beauty

can never be too careful.

Shh.

Damn it.

Let me guess again, cakes?

In the business of cakes?

You don't work for

the government.

What are you an attorney?

What are you, a

private detective?

Do I look like a private dick?

I wouldn't say private.

Paralegal.

Ahh.

- I was wondering...

- you know...

I'm sorry, go ahead.

No, no, no, you should go.

I was just gonna say,

maybe we should try

yelling or jumping up

and down or something?

Really?

I was gonna say that coat

is totally wrong for you.

You're a fashion critic now?

No, it's deeper than that.

I'm a deep guy.

No thanks.

You ever poor crackle all

over a scoop of ice cream?

I don't know.

Well, you're the ice cream

and that coat is your shell,

that's your hiding place.

Well, if you can tell

I'm trying to hide,

I must not be doing a

very good job of it.

Why would you possibly want

to hide how beautiful you are?

I mean, what are you afraid of?

Little ole' me?

Wait, I got it.

You're an only child, right?

You're a sorority

girl at Harvard,

just like mommy was.

And then you went to law

school and you thought

you met Mr. right but he

dumped you final semester

when he realized he

could be the next

wolf of wall street.

You managed to graduate but

you were so distraught

you just couldn't

pass the bar and so you

told all your friends

that you're a lawyer

even though, really,

all you do is work for one.

Here comes my favorite part.

It's why I saved it for last.

I can't wait.

You've always wanted

to be a cheerleader.

What are you doing?

Well, I'd like to

take a picture of you.

Stop! Hey! Stop!

Come one, show me

what's under that shell.

Stop!

Show me some emotion,

yeah, that's it.

We're in the surgery wing,

headed down to recovery

on the third floor.

How can that be?

This is a hospital.

Got it.

There's a glitch with

the backup generators,

should be 10 to 15 minutes.

You better hope

it's fixed before sleeping

beauty wakes up or one

of you's gonna have to

tell her the truth.

The truth is a

cardiac liposarcoma.

Nothing anybody could

have done about it,

except god.

She had that b*tch covered.

How's that?

She asked me to pray

with her before surgery.

And?

Maybe we should jump up

and down to get it going.

Yes!

No.

No.

Oh.

Well, I'm Molly.

I have been sober

for 45 minutes.

I was headed to eat Chinese

with my bff, Sherry,

who will tell you about

herself in just a minute.

Oh, I'm a Sagittarius and

I'm allergic to peanuts,

which is rare to

be a Sagittarius

and allergic to peanuts.

I'm Sherry, rhymes with canary.

In a past life I was a cyberkinetic

force of unknown origin,

but in this life, I'm a

poetry major.

Which means I pay the

rent by testing cosmetics,

which is why my face

is kind of puffy today.

Don't stare.

I am Nick.

I'm an art curator.

I was supposed to

lead the benefit tour

of the abstract exhibit

at the met tonight.

Just me, in new

York's leading lights.

Yeah, instead I get to

spend it with four strangers

who clearly wash their hands

less than three times a day.

That's the national average.

I know.

My name is Glen.

I'm Tim Giles.

And first off, cyberkinetic

forces, if they exist at all

have origins as

definable as any other,

unless they lay outside the

realm of time and space,

which is impossible.

Secondly, I don't buy that

you're going out for Chinese.

Not in those shoes.

Uh, well, we're headed to

a salsa bar to dance

with illegal people.

It's our little

Christmas charity.

So sue us.

It's not a winnable case.

Are you kidding me?

Why so serious? Huh?

We got a party here!

Looking good.

Stop!

Say what you're gonna say.

We got a problem

getting you out of there.

I know this.

Que pasa?

We got people stuck in

elevators all around the block.

Your Van severed

their main power line.

I screw the pooch?

Yeah, you did.

But your Van is also

connecting the two halves

of the backup line.

The reason those elevators

haven't fallen to the ground

is because your Van is

conducting electricity to their

emergency breaks.

What are you gonna do?

We're gonna dig down

either side of you,

splice a line around your Van,

lift you up and get

you out of there.

Hope it works.

Me too.

Can I get you anything else?

Yeah.

I want to see my senora.

Guadalupe?

My real senora.

A gunshot?

I don't think so, no.

But if we did have

a gun in here,

would that help us

get out quicker?

Tell them we'll shoot

a person every hour until

they rescue us.

No wonder you're a drummer,

you're so aggressive.

10 more minutes, more or less.

They're working on it

as fast as they can.

Let's pry the doors open.

We could shoot them open.

I never want to

see that gun again.

Rotate?

Yeah.

Gonna be starting the

hallelujah chorus about now.

They're asleep.

Why would you say that?

You're one of the world's

most accomplished violinists.

I'm one of the world's

most bored violinists.

I wanted to be a dancer.

Then why aren't you?

My mother made me give

it up for the violin.

I got to admit, playing

dead guy's compositions

over and over again

kinda bums me out.

Mozart, Bach, Handel,

those guys have got more

control over my life than I do

and they've been dead

for over 300 years.

Yeah, when I was a little

girl I used to dream of

playing for the

queen of England.

I taped a picture of

her to my bedroom wall

and practiced in front of it.

Two years ago, there she was

sitting in our audience.

When I warm up before a concert,

I do it exactly the way

my father taught me.

It's like a prayer to him.

I like boy bands.

Please tell me that wasn't dawn.

She's got a gun,

she can like whoever she wants.

Come on, I said I was sorry.

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